


Where Are You Going With My Heart

by kyrene



Series: Where Are You Going With My Heart [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Mild Language & Violence, stepbrother slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:45:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 50,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrene/pseuds/kyrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The AU stepbrother slash fic that no one asked for, but which the world needed!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn't so much that Eames minded leaving boarding school, although he was going to miss Yusuf. It wasn't that he was upset that his Mum was getting remarried; it was her choice, it was her life, and he wanted her to be happy.

But what he _didn't_ like, what _did_ upset him, was the fact that he had yet to meet the man his Mum was hooking up with. And, even worse, he was going to be relocating to America, to flipping _America_ , for good.

Or, well, at least until his eighteen birthday.

In all honesty, he was actually glad to be leaving school. He'd only been banished there due to bad behaviour. Which had largely consisted of him taking the fall for someone else, but it had been his choice to do so, and there had been plenty of transgressions he'd gotten clean away with in the past, so he wasn't too bitter. He didn't have a lot of friends here; in fact, Yusuf was about the only one who would have anything to do with him.

"I'll miss you," Yusuf said mildly. He was sitting on Eames' bed, a dark-haired, dark-skinned young man with a round face and gentle eyes, watching Eames stuff clothing haphazardly into his bags.

And his new stepfather had a son who was about Eames' age, six months younger, which was going to make things even more tense. Glorious.

"I'll miss you too," Eames replied, and even though he spoke in a somewhat offhand tone, he meant the words. "I'll e-mail, yeah?"

"Me too," Yusuf said and they were both serious in their promise, even though Eames was well aware, going from past experience, that they were more than likely going to eventually drift apart. Distance had a way of doing that, and Eames had left enough friends behind that he knew this beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Well, who could say for sure. Maybe this time it would take. Eames was certain that he was going to need someone to vent to, someone to listen to his complaints, which was something that Yusuf excelled at. Because optimism and a good attitude aside, as much as Eames wanted to make this work for his Mum's sake, he couldn't imagine that this was going to go smoothly.

And it would be a whole year and a half before he turned eighteen and was able to strike out on his own. Fabulous.

***

Arthur liked driving the Prius. Sure, it was made him look like a douche, but it handled like a dream and it made him feel, well, almost grown up. Which was silly, he was well aware. He was sixteen, which meant he was pretty close to grown up already and yet nowhere near it. He knew this. He also knew that he was more mature than pretty much anyone his age in school. That was part of the reason he had so few friends. Though it certainly wasn't the only reason....

He was really only allowed to use the Prius to run errands; otherwise he had to rely on his bike, public transportation, or Ariadne's shitty old truck. But he was on an errand today, in a manner of speaking. He was headed to the airport to pick up his new stepbrother.

He wasn't too happy about this. He liked Gloria and was glad for his father that he was marrying her. But he kind of thought that she, or both of _them_ , ought to be picking Eames up from the airport, and then bringing him home to introduce him to Arthur.

Arthur was going to feel awkward; he already did, just anticipating. Also, he felt kind of bad for his new stepbrother. He didn't think that Eames knew his mother wasn't going to be there when his plane landed.

He still couldn't quite believe that his new stepbrother's name, his _given name_ , was Eames. Then again, Arthur's father's future wife -- he just couldn't think of her as his stepmother; he hadn't had a mother in ten years -- seemed to be a little flighty, which might go a long way toward explaining it.

But, still. _Eames_?

His first sight of Eames didn't go a long way toward reassuring Arthur, either. Gloria had shown him a photograph so that he would know who he was looking for, but it had been at least a year out of date. Arthur had mainly noticed the school uniform and the cowlick when he had looked at it. Now that he was standing here, watching passengers disembark, he could see that Eames was older, bigger, and definitely more broad of shoulder than he had been in the photo. He was also dressed in jeans, a teeshirt, and a worn leather jacket, rather than a school uniform. He looked a lot like every jock who had ever picked on Arthur, and Arthur felt his heart sink.

Still, he was no coward, and he felt a little for Eames, the way he was frowning, looking around, probably expecting to see his mother.

Stepping forward, he made himself known. "Hey. I'm Arthur. Your mother is marrying my father, and they sent me here to pick you up."

Internally he winced at how awkward and ungracious he sounded, but he just wasn't _good_ with people. Ariadne said it was part of his charm, but she said a lot of things to try to make him feel better when he messed up, so he didn't place too much faith in her assessment.

Eames was looking at him now, and they were of a height. If anything, Arthur might be an inch or two taller. But then, he tended to stand up straight and Eames was slouching. Probably tired after his long flight, possibly just habitually.

"I see," Eames said, and his voice was a strange raspy rumble that made Arthur wonder vaguely if he smoked. "Pleased to meet you, Arthur."

There was something about the way he pronounced Arthur's name that made Arthur's ears pink. It sounded... affectionate? Only, it couldn't be, because they had only just met, and if anything, Eames was probably going to resent and dislike Arthur on principle.

"Shall we go get your luggage?" Arthur offered, waving in the general direction that he thought the baggage claim lay. He wanted to get home, where he could hide in his room and analyze this whole encounter. And he could turn Eames over to Gloria, who understood him better than Arthur did.

Although, honestly, what parent really understood their offspring?

Those fat pink lips that looked as though they didn't belong on a boy, that seemed as though they should be on a female model, quirked to one side. Something flickered in Eames' dark grey eyes.

"So, now Mum's got someone else to run errands for her," he said, his tone wry. But he didn't sound angry, either at Arthur or at his own mother. He sounded... tired. "Well, welcome to it, and I do apologize."

***

Eames' new stepbrother -- well, stepbrother-to-be -- looked as though he disapproved. Of what, Eames didn't know. Possibly his lack of maternal loyalty. Well, once Arthur got to know Mum a little better, he would understand.

Oh, Eames loved his mother, love her to bits. But she did tend to be... a bit scattered at the best of times. Eames had learned early on that he couldn't rely on anyone other than himself, and he didn't expect that to change any time soon. If it hadn't changed in sixteen years, it wasn't likely to do so, ever.

"It's no problem," Arthur said stiffly, and in all fairness he did sound as though he meant it.

"Lead the way," Eames said with a broad gesture. He felt sweaty and tired and wanted nothing more than to have a shower and collapse in a bed for a few hours. Which invariably meant that Mum was going to have some mad plan, like dressing up nice and going out to dinner or something. He hoped that he was wrong, but past experience led him to believe otherwise.

Arthur looked away, glancing up at the signage near the ceilings, probably looking for directions to the baggage claim. Eames would have just followed the majority of his fellow passengers, trusting that they would know where they were headed. But he took this opportunity to examine his new stepbrother. Well, not quite yet, technically, but he would be in a few days, after the wedding.

Arthur was an enigma, Eames could already tell. He was about the same height as Eames, give or take a bit. They were virtually the same age. Arthur was lean; he looked skinny but Eames suspected he was more wiry than anything else. It was hard to tell under the button-up shirt, trousers, and baggy brown thigh-length coat he was wearing. He should have looked like he was playing "grown up", but he really didn't. His clothes were kind of ridiculous, considering that he was only sixteen and ought to be in jeans like Eames was, but he wore them with confidence and on him they looked good.

Arthur had dark hair and chocolate brown eyes, his features regular, both sharp and soft at once. Eames was mostly captivated by the soft pink cupid's bow lips Arthur was sporting. Then he caught himself and gave his head a quick shake.

Bad idea, noticing things like that about his future stepbrother. He could get himself into a lot of trouble. And not the fun kind.

***

Eames stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and ambled after Arthur. So far things were going okay, Arthur thought. Not that he'd been expecting utter disaster. But it had been a possibility.... Hell, it could still happen.

He was quiet, wary. Eames was quiet as well, but he was probably just tired. Arthur was kind of angry at himself, because he couldn't help but find Eames to be, well, really hot. And that was a huge mistake, because even if Eames was playing nice now, that didn't mean it would last. Arthur had to deal with enough guys like Eames, whenever he couldn't manage to avoid them, that he was aware of this.

And they were going to be living together. Staying civil was going to be essential. Being attracted to Eames was not a possibility.

Now, if only Arthur could convince his libido of that.

***

When Eames first saw the house that was going to be his new "home", he felt his stomach clench. _Shit,_ he thought, but didn't verbalize, plastering on a blank, mildly amused expression to disguise the emotions roiling within.

The car really should have tipped him off, he thought. It had been slick, silver and sleek, and had just _looked_ expensive.

Mum had never told him that his new "family" was wealthy. Great. Eames was going to fit in even less here than he had expected. Not only was he going to be a British intruder with an accent and crooked teeth, but he was also going to look incredibly gauche. He didn't think he owned a single article of name brand clothing, and even if he did, it would probably be the wrong name.

Well, there was one good thing about the fact of the large house; it meant that he and Arthur didn't have to share a room. Bad enough he was going to be moving into a place that Arthur already considered home, even worse that he couldn't help thinking that Arthur was really ridiculously good looking. If they'd had to share a room, thrown in together on a daily basis in varying states of undress and repose, it could only have ended badly. Eames had no idea how it _would_ have gone, but he knew it couldn't have gone well.

"Darling!" his Mum squealed as he entered the house, both he and Arthur dragging his luggage. He dropped his bag to catch her as she threw herself at him, and resolutely told himself that he wasn't going to wonder why she hadn't been able to get to the airport to pick him up. Maybe she had only just gotten home herself. Yeah, sure, that.

Arthur vanished as Eames' mother introduced him to his future stepfather. The man was tall and skinny, and he didn't look very much like Arthur except around the eyes. He had thinning brown hair and the easy confidence that money gave a man, and his handshake was firm as he instructed Eames to call him Oscar. Eames wanted to trust him, but after growing up with the father he had done, he couldn't quite manage it. He was polite, though, and gave Oscar a smile that most anyone would think was real. His Mum was happy, and that was what mattered the most.

"Arthur, show Eames to his room, would you," Oscar instructed absently, as his son reappeared. Arthur nodded and grabbed one of Eames' bags, and that was when Eames realized that the other boy had already taken almost half his luggage, presumably to said room.

"Get cleaned up, darling," Mum said, smiling at him brightly. "We're going out to dinner!"

Biting back a groan, Eames gave her a smile that was more of a grimace. As he had expected. "Do I have time for a shower?" he hoped.

"No, no, just change your clothes and you'll be fine," his Mum cooed, her blue eyes bright. He had to admit that she looked good; evidently life with Oscar agreed with her. "You're dashing, my darling boy."

"Right," he gritted, grabbing the rest of his bags and turning toward Arthur.

The other boy shot him a sympathetic glance, and Eames wrinkled his nose before he thought to censor himself. Arthur grinned and then quickly lowered his head, trying to hide the expression. But Eames had seen.

Arthur had deep, adorable dimples and the most gorgeous smile he had ever seen.

It was entirely possible that Eames was fucked.

***

"This is your bedroom," Arthur said, opening the door and preceding Eames into the room in question. "It has an attached bath, but we're sharing that."

"Shit, sorry," Eames rumbled, dropping his bags and casting a longing look at the bed. Arthur could sympathize, but he already knew from just a few weeks of acquaintance that Gloria always got her way. As her son, Eames had to be even more aware of that fact.

"No reason to apologize," Arthur replied, and he sounded too stiff, he knew he did, but he couldn't help himself. He really didn't think that he minded.... But then a mental image of Eames standing naked and soaking wet in the shower popped into his head, and he felt himself flushing up to the tips of his ears. "I'll go and get changed now," he said, setting down Eames' bags and turning to leave.

"Yeah," Eames husked, and Arthur wasn't sure whether he sounded dismissive or just tired.

Arthur paused in the doorway. "I really... don't mind," he said, trying not to stutter. "Sharing, I mean. It's not a big deal. Just make sure you ask before using anything of mine, and we'll be good."

Eames was giving him a strange look, and Arthur didn't know him well enough to be able to read him. "I wouldn't," he replied, and now he was frowning, but he didn't seem upset so much as thoughtful.

Arthur got the sense that they were both talking about more than just sharing a bathroom and personal hygiene items. And he felt good, because they had reached an understanding, because he'd made a stand for himself even though it had been in a mild sort of way, and Eames hadn't taken it badly.

"Thanks," he said, giving Eames another small smile, then left the room quickly. He did feel bad for Eames, having to head right back out without any sleep or even a bath, but there was nothing either of them could do. He kind of understood Gloria's insistence, he thought. She wanted to _see_ them all together, getting along, wanted to be sure that her new little family was going to be functional.

Arthur thought that she should be thinking more of Eames, taking care of her son first and foremost, but it wasn't his place to say anything about that, to Eames or to Gloria.

Deciding that he really ought to stay out of it, he went into his bedroom and changed his clothes for something nicer. He didn't know where they were going to be eating dinner, but one couldn't go wrong with a nice striped dress shirt and a crisp pair of slacks with a matching vest.

Sometimes he got put down or made fun of for the way he dressed, but he knew that he looked good, and that always made him feel better and more confident.

He didn't think it was going to help a lot tonight, though. But he had to try.

***

Dinner wasn't painful, even though Eames was so tired that he almost fell asleep in his dessert. Not that he had the stomach for it anyway. He was jetlagged like nobody's business, and the rich meal on top of that had filled him up and actually made him feel a little ill.

He and Arthur were both quiet, leaving the conversation mostly to their parents. Mum wasn't about to ask Eames what he had been up to while in school; she'd have been too afraid that he might actually tell them about some of the trouble he'd been getting into. Actually, the truth was that he'd been toeing the line pretty well. Having Yusuf around as a steadying influence had been good. As well, knowing that his Mum was out of the country, where she couldn't just pop over and bail him out if it became necessary had factored in.

Or maybe he was just getting more mature. Horrible thought, that.

Once they finally, _finally_ got home, Eames was allowed to retire. Perhaps the fact that he had actually fallen asleep during the ride back to the house gained him this reprieve. At least his head had been resting against the window and not Arthur's shoulder.

He still wanted to shower, but he was just too tired. He stripped out of his clothes -- and hadn't he felt underdressed on his purple button-up shirt and corduroy trousers when he had seen how nicely Arthur was turned out -- and crawled between the sheets in his skivvies.

The room was wide and empty around him, larger than the living room in the apartment he and Mum had lived in before he'd been sent off to school. It felt cool, even though the temperature was perfectly comfortable. He felt like he was staying in a guest room, even though he knew that this was technically "his" bedroom now.

A year and a half seemed a very long time.... And even once he was eighteen, he wasn't sure he'd be able to strike out on his own. With no job and no prospects.... Well, he would figure it out when the time came.

He had always been good at taking care of himself. He'd _had_ to be.

***

It shouldn't have been so strange, knowing that Eames was in the room to the other side of the bathroom from him; Arthur had had a while to get used to the idea, after all, before Eames had even arrived.

Well, the whole engagement and wedding planning had gone really quickly. Gloria was a spontaneous sort of woman, and evidently so was Arthur's Dad when it came to love, though Arthur wouldn't have thought so until he'd seen it proven to him.

Anyway, the point was that Arthur had known for almost two weeks ahead of time which room Eames was going to inhabit, and the fact that he would be sharing his bathroom with his new stepbrother.

That was another thing he was having trouble wrapping his mind around. He knew that Gloria, and by extension his father, wanted them to be one big happy family. But he had been an only child for all of his life, and he'd been without a mother since he'd been six. It had always been just him and his Dad. His father had dated, it was true, but none of the women had ever moved in with them. Arthur thought that his Dad was a little bit old fashioned that way. Well, and he traveled a lot for his job.

Eames was an only child too, and probably felt much the same way about his mother that Arthur felt about his father. If anything, he would likely be more protective and possessive. Gloria was nice, but she was tiny and delicate and flighty, and more than once during dinner Arthur had seen Eames giving his Dad a strange, intent stare. He wondered what was going on in the other boy's mind. He wondered if they were going to be able to get along. He wondered whether Eames would become just another bully once he had recovered from his jetlag, and just how long it was going to take him to realize that Arthur was a skinny little faggot. As if the vest hadn't given _that_ away tonight.

Arthur just prayed that Eames never caught on to the fact that Arthur found him to be really freaking hot. If that were to happen, then his life really would be over.

***

The wedding went off smoothly, which was one hell of a relief to Eames. His Mum had been pinning so much on it. She didn't have any family there other than Eames, partially because she was getting married in the States, and partially because most of her familial ties had become cut during her stormy marriage to Eames' father.

She was radiant and she wore white, but no one seemed to mind. As far as Eames was concerned it was only fair; he didn't think that her marriage to his father should have counted in any universe. He gave her away, since there was no one else to do it, but he liked to think she'd have asked him to do so anyway. If anyone thought it was strange, they didn't say anything.

Arthur was one of his father's groomsmen, and Eames thought that it was totally unfair that he looked so much better and more at ease in the crisp white and black monkey suit they had to wear. What really disconcerted him, though, was the way that Arthur had slicked his hair back with what looked like an entire tin of pomade. It made him look older, but he was still just a sixteen year old, like Eames was. Eames considered himself lucky that he'd been able to tame his cowlick for the wedding, using considerably less product than Arthur but still more than he liked to use. He'd even done the side part his mother preferred, though he'd fully intended to be rid of it before the day was out.

Eames had danced with his Mum after Oscar had claimed the first dance, then she had dragged Arthur out despite his protests. Eames should have been gratified to find that he was a better dancer than Arthur was, but he found his new stepbrother's gawkiness completely charming instead.

They hadn't been allowed any alcohol at the reception, not surprisingly, so they'd got to sit around, watching Arthur's extended family get soused. Arthur seemed somewhat embarrassed by this, Eames had his own personal reasons for not liking to be around people who were drinking, and so they were both grateful when the bride and groom left and they were able to pile into the car -- Arthur driving, once again, of course -- and head for home.

It was kind of nice, thinking of it as "home". Not that Eames was going to get used to it.

He didn't really like the fact that Arthur was chauffeuring him around, but until he got his driving license here in America he was going to be shit out of luck. He supposed he should be glad that Arthur was old enough _to_ drive and that they weren't stuck bumming rides off of related adults.

Their parents were headed directly on their honeymoon, which would leave the two of them at home alone. Eames wasn't looking forward to that, but it might be nice to have a chance to get to know Arthur without his mother's anxious hovering or the oppressive presence of Oscar. Not that Oscar _meant_ to be oppressive, of course. He was perfectly polite and pleasant to Eames, and he certainly seemed to love Eames' Mum, in his quiet, understated way. But Eames had learned long ago never to trust a father figure -- most especially not anyone married to his mother.

Eames had had to learn most things the hard way, but once they were internalized, he didn't forget them. Just because Oscar seemed like a nice guy, that didn't mean it was true. Mum had said that Eames' father had been dashing and attentive once as well.

Although, Eames sincerely hoped for his Mum's sake that Oscar was everything that he seemed to be.

***

Once the wedding was over, their reprieve was over, and it was back to school.

Well, back to school for Arthur. Eames was starting school in the States for the first time. If he was nervous about it, he didn't show it. And he had absolutely no problem fitting in, better than Arthur ever had.

Eames, Arthur quickly realized, was everything that he could have ever wanted to be. Confident, in control, smooth, able to adapt to any situation without blinking so much as an eyelash. It was what Arthur intended to become. It was what he tried to be. But, as he had been reliably informed, right now he came off as cold and unapproachable instead. Which wasn't what he was trying for at all.

Not that he wanted a lot of friends. He was happy with the three close friends that he had. And... well, it was hard to tell on their first day, but he didn't think that Eames seemed to trying to gain friends so much as he was... just being friendly. Maybe _that_ was the difference. Well, that and the confidence.

At least Eames seemed to be more at home now. Arthur was pleased for him, really.

***

Arthur was at home here in a way that Eames could never, would never be.

Arthur had grown up in this place. Maybe not here, exactly -- Eames didn't know how long Arthur and his father had lived in this town, in their house -- but he had been wealthy and had been an American for longer than Eames. Considering that Eames had been born and raised poor and had been here for less than a week. Well, and the fact that he would never _be_ an American, no matter whether he spent the rest of his life here or not.

Still, Eames made his way. He had learned at an early age how to read people and how to give them what they wanted. It hadn't saved him completely, but it had spared him more beatings than he probably would have gotten otherwise. It was only his smart mouth and his inclination to intense protectiveness -- especially where his Mum was concerned -- that had continued to get him in trouble.

He tried to curb the smart mouth at his new school. It wasn't easy. Everyone was so shallow and seemed to be interested only in appearances. He hoped that he was judging them too harshly, but seven hours of interaction didn't exactly prove him wrong. He wanted to ask Arthur where the intelligent people were -- he assumed that Arthur would know and would be hanging out with them, since he _was_ one -- but he couldn't find his new stepbrother.

Arthur was there with the car, though, when it was time to go. He looked... smaller, somehow, than he looked at home. More subdued. Out of his element. Eames wondered whether Arthur was having a crappy high school experience. Well, he certainly wasn't a jock, and even though Eames found him to be incredibly attractive, he didn't exactly carry himself like a pretty boy. So that left brain or ghost, and considering that Eames hadn't seen hide nor hair of Arthur almost the entire day -- except for the classes they were in together -- he was voting for the latter. Or perhaps a bit of both.

Eames wondered where he was going to end up on the food chain when things finally shook down. He was new and interesting now, as he had anticipated, and more than one girl had fluttered her lashes at him. Not that he was at all inclined that way, but it was flattering. Any attention that didn't result in him getting punched was good attention, so far as he was concerned.

But he didn't expect it to last. His accent would become less exotic, his muscles and tattoos would become commonplace, and his mouthiness was probably going to get him into trouble with the authority figures, if not his classmates. He wasn't heartbroken over the thought. He didn't really _want_ to get involved in the machinations and interests of these silver spoon brats.

What he _wanted_ was to be able to track down Arthur and spend some time with him. Somehow it was different, safer, at school. At home it was isolated and awkward. But out in a public place....

Eames wasn't sure why it was different, but somehow it seemed as though it was. And he wasn't inclined to overanalyze this reaction.

Well, tomorrow was always another day.

***

Arthur cooked them dinner, which made Eames frown. Arthur wondered if Eames thought that it was woman's work or something, but his new stepbrother -- now official -- didn't strike him as being overly chauvinistic.

He almost felt like he had it when Eames tried to insist on doing the dishes after they were finished with their largely silent dinner. "I'll do them," he said, thinking privately how he didn't trust anyone else to load the dishwasher. Arthur did all of the cooking and cleaning, had been taking care of his father since his mother had died. He supposed that this might change, might _have_ to change now that Dad was married to Gloria, but he wouldn't willingly give over his role to Eames.

"Well, let me help," Eames insisted, his brow furrowing. He really was ridiculously good looking; it was no wonder he was doing so well at school.

Arthur didn't want to get in a fight over something as simple as dishes, so he let Eames do half of them, even though there really wasn't much room at the sink. He made sure that _he_ was the one who loaded the dishwasher, though. Dom had always said he was too anal for his own good, but it was too late to try to change now.

"How did your first day of school go?" Arthur asked, to break the awkward silence as they handled the dishware. The bowls and utensils Arthur had used to make dinner had been soaking, so they needed to be washed as well.

Arthur _knew_ how Eames' day had gone, honestly. He'd been watching. Ariadne had called him a creeper, had laughed in his face, but that was Ariadne. She was his best friend, and yet despite this -- or maybe because of it -- she never restrained herself, never held back to spare his feelings. Or, if she did, he didn't want to know about it.

But even though he had been watching, he wanted to hear from Eames himself how his first day in school had been.

"It was all right," Eames said slowly, and he was frowning down at the whisk in his hand with an oddly intent expression. He frowned a lot more at home than he did at school, Arthur thought. But then, his cheeky grin had struck Arthur as nothing more than an affectation, when he had been flashing it around the school. They hadn't known each other long, but Arthur already felt that he could tell the difference between an expression that was honest and one that was false on Eames' face.

Eames glanced over at him, his grey eyes dark, looking almost green in the yellow-tinted kitchen. They did seem to pick up shades of whatever color was in the room around them, shifting them in strange ways. "I missing seeing you," he said, his voice low and intimate, sending a shiver of arousal right up Arthur's spine and raising the hairs on his arms.

"Oh," he said intelligently.

Eames shrugged and grinned sheepishly. And this one was a real smile, Arthur thought, feeling himself flush warmly at that realization.

"So where do the smart kids hang out?" Eames asked, handing Arthur the colander. He quirked a brow, and Arthur wondered where he had gotten the thin, silvery scar that bisected it. He had another scar under his chin, that one worse, and Arthur had noted more than a few on his hands and forearms. He thought that he had overheard his Dad and Gloria whispering once about Eames getting into trouble, and he wondered whether Eames had used to get into fights, back in England.

"What do you mean?" he asked, as much because he had no clue as to stall on answering.

"Well." Eames frowned again, and it shouldn't look so cute. "I missed seeing you. And nearly everyone I met today was a posh poser. I'm assuming that you and the other intelligent people are off doing your own thing. Or..." he cast Arthur an unreadable look, "Don't tell me that you're the only one!"

"No," Arthur replied before he thought. "There's Ariadne. And sometimes Dom and Mal, though they're usually off together, making out or talking about their dreams or something."

He pinked a little more under the hard stare that Eames pinned him with, well aware that the other boy had clearly been able to hear the mild bitterness in his voice.

He was happy for Dom and Mal, honest he was. But sometimes.... Well, sometimes he just couldn't bear to be around them.

"Okay," was all Eames said, and he pulled the plug in his half of the sink, then dried his hands with a dishtowel while Arthur put the last glass in the dishwasher. There wasn't _quite_ enough in it to justify running it, and he always hated when that happened. Well, maybe he could make them something for dessert.

"I could introduce you," Arthur offered, knowing he sounded awkward. "Ariadne was pushing me to introduce her today, but neither of us wanted to fight our way through the crowd."

Eames grimaced, and there was a darkness in his eyes that Arthur felt went far beyond the events of the day and into Eames' past. "They'll tire of me soon enough," he said, and his rumbling voice still made Arthur's blood heat.

Arthur felt the overwhelming need to change the subject, to banish that darkness.

"How do brownies sound for dessert?" he asked, peering into the cupboard. Gloria had made sure that they were fully stocked before she and Dad had left, even though they were only going to be gone for four days. There was more food in the house than the two of them would be able to eat in a month.

Sometimes, Arthur thought, Gloria overcompensated. And looking at Eames, he wondered what she was overcompensating for, what Eames' childhood had been like.

But that wasn't any of his business.

Eames settled down at the kitchen table while Arthur mixed up the brownies and got the pan in the oven, and so he felt that he had no choice but to join him while they were baking, even though he usually did his own homework upstairs, at his desk in his bedroom.

"I'd love to meet your Ariadne," Eames said, glancing up at Arthur through his long lashes, and it really ought to be illegal for someone with a mouth like Eames had to do what he was doing to his pen. "And anyone else you deem me worthy of interacting with. I'm not a brain, myself, but I do appreciate hanging about with people who understand a good joke... who know the difference between sarcasm and satire. Or who get the concept of either one."

Arthur snorted out a little laugh before he could help himself, and grinned crookedly at Eames. Suddenly he didn't mind so much that he was sitting here with a virtual stranger who was supposed to be his "brother", doing homework in the kitchen instead of his bedroom. "You and Ariadne are going to get on like a house on fire," he remarked, brushing his bangs out of his eyes and meeting Eames' gaze steadily.

Eames blinked slowly, then gave him a small curved smile, his cheeks pinking, before turned his attention back to the books and papers scattered before him. He actually looked... shy. Somehow.

Arthur thought that Eames was selling himself short, as he glanced surreptitiously at the other boy's work. His penmanship was pretty sloppy, and he seemed to have employed some creative spelling in places, but his answers were largely correct as far as Arthur could see.

The oven timer went and Arthur made them some hot chocolate while the brownies cooled enough to eat. They spent a pleasant evening together before retiring, and Arthur didn't think that he should have been so surprised by that, but he really was.

***

Even though Eames had thought he'd set his alarm early enough, Arthur was still up before him, making breakfast when Eames staggered into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and searching for caffeine.

Fortunately his Mum stocked in tea, the good kind, and he set about brewing himself some. Arthur was drinking coffee, which surprised Eames not at all, and was evidently cooking them both breakfast, since there was no way he was going to be able to eat an omelette of that size alone.

"I hope you like mushrooms," Arthur said. He'd already enquired as to any allergies or violent dislikes Eames might have before making them dinner the night before, and Eames appreciated that, but the fact that Arthur was trying to do all the cooking and cleaning was driving him a bit batty.

Eames was used to fending for himself, and generally taking care of his Mum as well. To have someone else attempting to look after his needs made his skin crawl. The only time his Mum had ever stepped up and coddled him had been after his father had had a particularly violent episode, and so Eames had only bad associations.

But he couldn't very well tell Arthur that, could he? And it would be churlish of him to reject Arthur's offered hospitality.

The main problem was, Arthur was clearly used to being in control and to taking care of himself and his family. Whereas Eames had an equal need for control, even though he manifested it differently, and he was just as used to being the one to care for those around him.

So they were at an impasse. But since Arthur had made it into the kitchen before Eames, since this was his home -- even though they both technically lived here now -- and since Eames was the one with an awareness of what was going on, Eames would bow out gracefully and let Arthur do what he needed to do.

Didn't mean that he didn't feel cranky and on edge, though. Eames was aged beyond his years, but that didn't always translate into maturity. And realizing this fact wasn't enough to enable a change.

"Mushrooms are fine," he said shortly, and hoped that Arthur would put his snappishness down to a deficit of caffeine in his system.

And, he had to admit, the omelette _was_ delicious, definitely better than anything he could have cobbled together. That realization only made him more cranky.

The real kicker, though, was when he discovered that Arthur had packed his lunch. Granted, it was largely leftovers from their dinner the night before. But it put a queer, painful feeling in Eames' chest that didn't let up all the way in to school.

He couldn't tell if it was anger or appreciation, but he rather figured it was a bit of both.

***

Eames was strangely quiet all morning, and Arthur actually put on the radio during the short drive to the high school just to have something to break the tension. He didn't know if he had done something wrong, or if Eames was simply feeling stressed out and homesick for England. He knew he shouldn't take it personally, but it was hard not to when it was just the two of them.

It was a little bit better once they reached school. As promised, Arthur introduced Eames to Ariadne and they had each other completely charmed within a matter of minutes. It made Arthur wince to see them flirting lightly with one another, shades of Dom and Mal, but he really had absolutely zero claim on Eames, other than the designation of "stepbrother", and he didn't know the other boy well enough yet to be in a place where he could demand more.

Not that this would ever be a good idea. Eames' mother was married to Arthur's father. They were going to be family for... well, hopefully for the rest of their lives. Arthur wasn't entirely thrilled with the short time period that his Dad had known Gloria before proposing, but they did seem to be in love, honestly and entirely. And so he did hope, for his father's sake and for Gloria's, that it was going to last. He thought that it would.

So, yeah. He and Eames were stepbrothers, that was all. And, besides, it wasn't as though Eames would be interested in Arthur, in any universe. He had his pick of any single girl in the school -- leaving out the gay ones -- and possibly some of the ones who were not single, or perhaps undecided. Even Ariadne seemed completely taken by him, which was a little surprising.

Arthur, on the other hand, was lanky and awkward and funny-looking, not to mention that he was a _male_.

He didn't have a chance.

***

Eames was pretty sure that Ariadne had pegged him as queer within ten minutes of conversation. She'd gone from wary and polite to bright and coquettish, and since she was clearly too smart to be honestly flirting with him, he was certain that she had just mentally put him in the "safe" category inside her head.

He wondered if that was why she hung out with Arthur. He _hoped_ that was why she hung out with Arthur. But his gaydar wasn't so refined as hers and he honestly couldn't tell if Arthur was homo or just fussy. Maybe at some point in the future he and Ariadne could have a private conversation and he could ask her. It might be incredibly gauche, but Eames knew he was charming enough to get away with it.

Of course, the last thing he wanted to do was alienate Ariadne. She obviously thought the world of Arthur, and even though Arthur had mentioned a couple of other friends, Ariadne was the only one whose name didn't bring a tight expression to his face. Eames didn't feel he was wrong in assuming that Ariadne was Arthur's closest friend.

Unless they were more than that. But Ariadne was a darling girl, and Eames _really_ didn't think she'd be flirting so easily with him if she and Arthur were an item. Maybe the two of them would get together someday, though. They would certainly make a handsome couple, both of them dark-haired and dark eyed, with perfect pale skin and pretty features. Arthur was tall and Ariadne was tiny and they were both pleasantly slim without being skinny. They looked adorable, grinning at each other, and Eames thought they would look even better if they were curled up in their own little world together.

Well, whatever happened, Eames wanted to do what it took to retain Ariadne's good will and friendship. Because even in the short time they had known each other, he had come to be quite fond of Arthur. And he thought that he was more than likely to only grow to like Ariadne more.

Now that the ice had been broken, Eames went out of his way to track down Arthur and Ariadne during school hours, and as they saw this, the rest of the students, the perfect and popular ones, quickly lost their interest in Eames. Which was just what he had been hoping would happen, though Arthur seemed to think that it was something Eames would regret.

Eames was partially offended that Arthur might think he was so shallow himself, and partially pleased that Arthur cared so much that he was worried about his happiness.

At any rate, neither Arthur nor Ariadne pushed him away, and they seemed to enjoy his company. Ariadne more openly than Arthur, but that was just because Arthur was rather badly repressed. He and Eames were both dreadfully private individuals, it was true, but Eames was better at faking interpersonal interactions than Arthur was.

Eames also got to meet the legendary Dom and Mal. The two were a year older than the rest of them, and they were both insanely good looking. This was only compounded and magnified by the fact that they were a devoted and doting couple. Dominic had burnt gold hair and piercing blue eyes, where Mallory had a unique but impossibly flattering bob of dark hair, huge teal eyes, and a smooth, creamy complexion. They should have been the stereotypical jock and popular girl, and they both _were_ popular, would probably end up being the king and queen of the prom -- if Americans still indulged in those trite traditions -- but they were also intelligent, talented, and far too smart to fall in with the foolish machinations of those around him.

Arthur had obviously been in love with one of them, probably before they had become a couple. Eames was as sure of that as he was anything in his life. There was a tension to Arthur's lean frame when they were around, and the skin around his eyes got pinched. As well, there were the sympathetic and yet mildly exasperated glances Ariadne would give him.

But it wasn't Eames' place to ask, and so he still didn't know whether Arthur favoured a love that dare not speak its name or a more mainstream sort; whether it had been Dom or Mal who had captured and broken his heart. They were certainly both equally worth a little heartbreak, but, like Ariadne, Eames hated to see Arthur continue to beat himself up.

Dom was immediately friendly toward Eames, but Mal was more suspicious. Eames figured it was because she thought of Arthur as a little brother, even though she was only a year older. Her father was British but she was completely French, right down to a heavy accent in her breathy, raspy little voice. Eames didn't intend to push anything, even though he could have pointed out that it was at least indirectly her fault that Arthur was so despondent. She would either come to trust Eames or she would not; in the meantime he intended to give her no cause to doubt him or his sincerity.

Things carried on fairly smoothly in this manner for the next week or so. Eames didn't get into trouble at school. He didn't need the attention, what with his new friends whom he actually respected, and he certainly didn't want to cause his Mum grief. His smart mouth got him in a bit of hot water with the teachers from time to time, but nothing bad enough to get him detentions.

He and Arthur were still a bit awkward around each other, as was bound to happen with two teenage boys forced into a familial situation, but they got along for the most part. Arthur still insisted on doing all of the cooking and cleaning, which was driving Eames steady mad, but he didn't dare to push the issue. Even though he was living there now as well, he still thought of it as _Arthur's_ house.

His bedroom was becoming his own, though. This involved clothing on the floor, homework on the desk, and lotion and tissues next to the bed, because he was a sixteen year old male and these sorts of things were only to be expected.

Eames wanted to get his driving license, hated having to depend on Arthur to chauffer him around, but with their parents gone that just wasn't going to happen.

Then their parents did return, and things were both weirder and more easy. It was hard to mesh four lives when all of them were used to something different. They were all trying, though, and if anything, things were mostly too stiff and polite except where Eames' mother was concerned. She called them all "her men", which Eames actually didn't mind, mainly because it always made Arthur pink up to the tips of his ears, and made Oscar grin.

Eames was aware that he maybe should have been jealous, but he wasn't. He loved his Mum and wanted her to be happy... and Oscar made her happy. In ways that Eames couldn't and shouldn't be able to do. And she deserved to be happy, after the number that her first husband had pulled on her.

But Eames preferred not to dwell on the past. Things were better now. and if he couldn't quite bring himself to trust Oscar, if he went quiet and waited for the man to hit him whenever they were in a room together, well, that was just instinct and he couldn't help that. He _wanted_ to believe that Oscar was what was best for his Mum, so that was the attitude he made an effort to maintain. And he could tell his mother appreciated the effort, even though Arthur gave him funny looks sometimes.

Things might have carried on this strange, uncomfortable balance, for much longer if Eames hadn't heard the word "faggot" being spat harshly outside the school while he was on his way toward the car at the end of a school day.

He assumed immediately that it had been aimed at him, but he was wrong.

***

Arthur was pissed at himself. Well, he was really pissed at the jocks who had cornered him, because they were small-minded assholes who lashed out at anything they couldn't understand. Arthur was smart, he was organized, and he dealt well with adults, treating them with respect and gaining the same in return. Because of all this and the fact that he was slender and didn't date or play any sport he wasn't required to play, he got picked on and called a fag on what used to be a regular basis.

Well, the way he dressed, as well as the fact that he actually did like boys, really didn't help any.

Things had gotten some better after he'd become friends with Dom, but the two of them didn't so often hang out anymore. Arthur was usually able to stay close to Ariadne, who would be a witness if anyone tried anything, but she had gone out of town for a funeral, and Arthur had let himself be caught out alone.

If it was just the verbal bullying, he could deal with it. He didn't like being called names and insulted any more than the next person, and the fact that he just took it silently without snapping back sometimes seemed to make things _worse_ , but he'd learned long ago not to use his words as weapons even though he could. Bullies really didn't like it when someone could talk circles around them and turn their own barbs back on them.

But, no, Arthur couldn't be so lucky. This latest batch of assholes had been out for his blood for over two years now, and they were just smart enough to only hit him where the bruises wouldn't show. Which, unfortunately for him, meant his ribs and stomach, where he had next to no padding. Well, not that he really had _any_ padding, anywhere.

There were only three of them, but that was plenty. They were all bigger than Arthur, and of course they were far more willing to use their fists. It started out as it always did, with a cascade of insults growing increasingly more crude, and then the first shove.

Arthur staggered into the wall behind him, mentally bracing himself, trying to work out a good escape plan. He wasn't into sports, but he was athletic on his own terms and he could sprint faster than anyone who was not on the track team. He just needed an opening, and if he could reach the parking lot, he'd be in the car and there would be other people, and hopefully Eames would show up and they could drive away--

"Oy. Wanker."

Arthur blinked. That had been Eames' voice. Eames was supposed to be at the car. Wasn't he?

The guy closest to Eames turned.

Eames' eyes flashing dangerously, his lip curving in a shit-eating grin.

"You looked," he remarked conversationally, before hauling back and punching the guy in the face so hard that he staggered and almost fell over.

"Shit!" one of the other jocks yelped, and the two remaining jumped Eames without a second glance for Arthur. Once he had recovered, though his nose was streaming blood and Arthur thought it might be broken, the guy that Eames had hit also joined the fray.

Arthur could have run now. But that would have been so far beyond his own personal and professional code of conduct, that the thought only passed through his mind in a dismissive flicker. _A lesser person might run now._ Because Eames hadn't hesitated to come to his aid, and Arthur would never be able to face anyone again if he didn't return this favor.

Eames held his own for a while, even with three big jocks ganging up on him. His muscles obviously weren't just for show, and he knew how to fight dirty. Arthur found himself simply watching for several long moments, not because he was reluctant to join in, but because he was mesmerized by the primitive beauty of Eames' movements. He punched throats, poked eyes, kicked hamstrings, and kneed balls.

But despite this, he was losing. For all the damage he was able to cause, there were three sets of fists and feet causing him damage in return. There was blood on his mouth and then there was blood in one of his eyes, and then one of the jocks was back on his feet, and he kicked Eames in the stomach as hard as he could.

Eames folded into himself with a choked sound and that was what snapped Arthur out of his daze and drove him into action.

Arthur let the bullies push him around because it was better than fighting back. There were usually more of them than of him. He invariably got into trouble for fighting when he tried to defend himself, even though he was half the size of his tormentors. And he was well aware that if he fought back, they would just come back at him in greater numbers at some point in the future.

But right now Eames was hurt, and another of the assholes was swinging his foot toward Eames' _head_.

Without a sound, Arthur threw himself at the guy. He was smaller but he had the element of surprise. And contrary to what everyone thought, Arthur _did_ know how to fight. And, like Eames, he knew how to fight dirty.

Eames did end up taking a glancing kick to the head -- less than it would have been if Arthur hadn't interefered -- but he was able to stagger upright again and with the two of them working together they set about handing the three jocks their asses to them.

It was as much fortunate as it was unfortunate that it was at this point that the vice principal of the school, a certain Mr. Fischer, happened around the corner. His suit was flawless and his expression was sour, his disapproval radiating more loudly than his voice as he shouted for them to stop.

And, as it turned out, even a knock-down, drag-out fist fight could be quelled by the correct authority figure.

Arthur wished that he could be glad.

***

Eames really expected the shit to hit the fan. The principal talked to him privately, which made Eames anxious because of all the trouble he'd gotten into before moving to the States. But this headmaster was more reasonable than most that Eames had dealt with in the past, and he seemed to recognize the fact that Eames had simply been dealing with some bullies on their own terms. It was a strange and refreshing experience, and he came out of the meeting actually feeling better than he'd felt going into it.

"Thank you, Principal Saito," he said, as they finished up.

"You have a very impressive academic record," Principal Saito said, his accent thick but his voice smooth and soothing. "I would like to see you live up to your potential."

"I'll give it my best try," was all that Eames could promise, but he honestly meant the words, and it felt good to shake hands with the principal before leaving his office, even though his knuckles were already sore and swollen.

He felt bad for Arthur, who had a genuinely horrified expression on his face. Whether it was because he had been drawn into the fight, or whether he was upset that Eames had gotten called into the principal's office, Eames didn't know, but he liked to think that it was the latter. Not that he was happy to see Arthur so distressed, of course.

Arthur had fared better than Eames. Eames had a split lip, the beginnings of what would probably be a spectacular black eye, a knot rising dangerously close to one temple, not to mention it felt like he had a cracked rib. He knew he didn't, having had one before, but it really hurt. Also, one of those bastards had gotten a little too close to his family jewels for his comfort. He'd had worse in the past, though, without even leaving his own home. Arthur had obviously take a blow to one cheekbone, but otherwise seemed largely unscathed.

So it went better at school than Eames could have ever expected, and he was grateful for that. Now he just had to face the wrath of the parents. And even more that talking to the principal, that was what he was dreading.

Going home meant that Eames was going to have to face his Mum. The heavy sadness in her eyes, the quiet disappointment in her voice. The knowledge that he had let her down, yet again. And he had been doing so well, too.

He had been ready to grovel, to apologize and really mean it, to promise to do better and hope that she believed him....

What he never would have expected was for his Mum to flutter over both of them, all aflap because poor little Arthur had been set upon by some terrible thugs, and her darling Eames had been injured coming to his rescue.

Eames sort of wished that he had thought of this angle years earlier. But then, it probably wouldn't have gone over so well without Arthur and his cute little face, a nasty purple bruise rising on one high cheekbone, and his eyes flashing, ready to raise the roof in Eames' defense.

So that was one hurdle successfully... well, hurdled. But there was also Oscar. Eames didn't know what to expect from the man. A cold and grim lecture about how he was disappointed in Eames? A screaming fit? Maybe he would finally explode in violence, the way that Eames' father always had done when Eames had gotten into anything that even hinted at trouble.

But evidently the fact that Eames had jumped in to defend Arthur went a long way toward placating Oscar as well. Both he and Mum seemed delighted that their two boys were so close, even though they were trying to keep stern faces on, since their sons had been caught scrapping at school. And they _were_ solemn, seeing as Eames was still sporting a face covered in his own blood as well as the bruising underneath, but they couldn't hide the fact that they were not so secretly pleased.

"You boys can go to your rooms now," Mum said sweetly, after Oscar gave them a few words about behaving at school. He had been addressing both of them, not just Eames, and he had managed to communicate the fact that it was perfunctory very clearly through his tone of voice, so Eames didn't take it to heart, even though he genuinely thought that it was good advice.

"Go and soak in a hot tub," Oscar added, giving Eames a light pat on the should, politely pretending that he thought it was due to Eames' injuries when he winced instinctively away. "It'll help with the bruising."

"I have some Epsom Salts you can add to the water," Arthur put in, his brows crinkled, his expression concerned. Now that he wasn't going to be punished by the principal or unbraided by their parents, he was evidently beginning to seriously worry about the damage Eames had taken for him. Eames thought that it was sweet of him.

"Go on, boys," his mother urged, rising up on her toes to plant a kiss on Arthur's cheek, then Eames' in turn. He had a feeling what she _wanted_ was to hug him, and he was incredibly glad that she had remembered the ribs. She didn't always. "I'll get dinner ready and call you when it's done."

"Thanks, Mum," Eames replied, and he and Arthur scooted out of the living room, headed for their respective bedrooms before any more could be said.

"Well, that went better than could be expected," Eames said to Arthur, keeping his voice conspiratorially low as they paced side by side down the hall.

Arthur gave him a wide eyed stare, then he smiled. His expression was more open and more _real_ than any look he had yet shared with Eames, and Eames felt a suspicious clench in the general area of his heart.

Getting beat all to hell had been well worth it, then, if it got Arthur to look at him like that, he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur was torn between feeling really good and feeling really bad as he and Eames moved down the hallway toward their shared bathroom.

On the one hand, he now knew for sure that Eames wasn't going to turn out to be one of those asshole jock bullies, like he had feared when he had first met him. Not that he hadn't already kind of realized this, while Eames had been hanging out with Arthur's friends -- and, he supposed, with Arthur himself -- but it was really great to have it so decisively confirmed. And it was also nice to know that Eames cared enough about him to jump in and get hurt in his defense. He never would have expected that.

On the other hand, _Eames had gotten hurt in his defense_. Arthur could see the way he was holding his right arm stiffly against his chest, and he'd had to consciously slow his steps to match Eames' pace. The other boy wasn't exactly limping, but he wasn't striding as smoothly as he normally did.

"Are you sure you don't need a doctor?" he asked, suddenly anxious. Eames had gotten kicked in the _head_. It hadn't been as bad as it could have been, but it was pretty bad.

Eames chuckled. "I've had worse," he drawled easily, shrugging his shoulder on the side he wasn't favoring. "Trust me. A nice soak, some sleep, and I'll be fine."

Arthur frowned, but he couldn't press the issue without essentially calling Eames a liar, and Eames ought to know his own body, so he let it drop.

"Thank you," he said awkwardly, as he opened the bathroom door. "For stepping in and helping me with those assholes."

He should have said that earlier, but they had been in the principal's office, then during the car ride home Eames had been in pain and Arthur had still been wired with adrenaline and emotion, too strung out to form words. He was still incredibly furious with the bullies; especially considering the damage they had done to Eames. He was mad at himself for getting caught by them in the first place. He was both thrilled and appalled at the way Eames had leapt to his defense. He'd been terrified when Principal Saito had talked to Eames alone, and even though Eames had looked at ease when he'd exited the principal's office, Arthur was well aware that he was a master at faking things. Not to mention Arthur had been dreading speaking to their parents about what had happened, having had no idea that was going to go as well as it had.

But things had gone mostly okay, and now they were in the bathroom together, and he _had_ to thank Eames before any more time had passed. Eames had _bled_ for him, would be bearing bruises for a good while, bruises he'd gotten in defense of Arthur. And it was entirely thanks to Eames that it wasn't Arthur who was sporting the blood and bruises.

Eames gave him a crooked grin that looked painful as hell with his split lip. "It was my pleasure," he replied, and his curiously hoarse voice sounded warm with affection. "I'm always up for the chance to give bullies back some of their own. Besides." His smirk turned into a grimace. "They were in the process of handing my arse back to me when you stepped in. So the thanks go both ways."

Arthur flushed, and bent to rummage in the cupboard for the Epsom Salts to cover this embarrassing involuntary reaction. He could hear Eames grunting in pain behind him, and the slide of cloth over skin, so he wasn't surprised to turn and see that Eames had taken off his blood-stained shirt.

"Oh." He couldn't help the small exhalation. It was the first time he had seen Eames without at least a teeshirt on, seeing as it was wintertime and Eames seemed to get chilled easily. Arthur had already known that Eames was ripped, and he'd seen some of the tattoos that curled around the edges of his clothing, but it was different when everything was right there on display. The broad chest with its sprinkling of brown hairs, his flat, hard stomach, the lines of ink, some dark and bold, some more faded. Arthur suspected that this last was more a result of quality than age, since it couldn't have been _very_ long since Eames had gotten them. He was only sixteen, after all.

Eames, fortunately, took Arthur's inhalation to be something else. He grimaced again, raising his right arm and craning to look at the spreading bruise that darkened the flesh over his ribs. That was the worst of it, though not the only damage by a long shot.

"Bugger," he rumbled, scowling.

"I'll run the tub," Arthur heard himself say, his fingers white on the carton he was holding, averting his eyes before he could begin to react physically. Well, more so than the violent heat that he could already feel rising in his cheeks. "While you go and get some comfortable clothes to change into."

"Good idea," Eames grunted, and went into his room.

Arthur frowned to himself as he bent over the bathtub, getting the temperature right before closing the drain. Both he and Eames preferred to shower, but Arthur always made sure that the tub was clean and ready for use. He wanted to thank Eames again, for taking that beating for him, while protecting _him_ , but he had a feeling that he would just embarrass the other boy if he did. He was going to have to try to use his actions to express what he couldn't put into words.

He started by getting the hot bath ready for Eames, using his own previous experiences with bullies to get the amount of salts right. Not that they would help much, but every little bit....

"So, where did you learn to fight like that?" Eames asked curiously, as he came back into the bathroom with some worn grey sweats clutched in one hand. He had shed his jeans as well and was wearing boxer-briefs and Arthur thought that he was maybe going to have an aneurism. Holy fucking shit! Those thighs! That crotch!

Question... question.... Eames had asked him a question, hadn't he?

"Um." He stayed kneeling by the bathtub for a moment, trying to will down his awkward physical response to seeing Eames nearly naked. And wasn't _that_ a view that would grace his jerk-off fantasies for some time to come -- possibly for the rest of his _life_. If only he could look directly without risking exploding, or giving too much away. He knew that he was flushed all the way to the tips of his ears, around the back of his neck, the heat sweeping down his chest and pooling in his groin. Right now he only wanted to get out of the bathroom without Eames noticing his growing erection. He needed an opening.

"Um." Maybe he could distract Eames by, oh, _answering his question_. "Dad thought that martial arts training would make me less clumsy, when I was younger."

"And did it?" Eames seemed blissfully unaware of the effect his body and his near nudity were having on Arthur, as he moved to set his clothes on the lid of the wicker hamper next to the shower stall, then crossed to peer at his battered face in the mirror. The tub was still filling, so it wasn't completely weird for Arthur to remain kneeling beside it.

It was just moderately weird.

"Yeah," Arthur replied, his voice husky, his cheeks still flushed, but he could blame that on the steam from the hot water, right? "Yeah, it did. And I've been using a lot of the exercises to stay in shape ever since, even though I try not to get into fights." He winced internally, hoping that Eames didn't think that Arthur was judging him, declaring any superiority to him, since he was obviously no stranger to fisticuffs. "I've also been showing Ariadne some self defense moves lately," he added, well aware that he was babbling now, but _he was in an enclosed area with an almost naked Eames_ , so he thought he could allow himself a little slack.

"Well, that's good," Eames declared mildly, not seeming put out or awkward in the slightest. Of course, he probably wasn't able to focus much beyond the pain of his ribs, stomach, and back -- judging by the extent of the bruising -- and the ache of his face. He was going to be a sight tomorrow, what with the rapidly darkening black eye and his badly split lip.

And there was a lot of lip to be split....

Arthur shut off the water as the tub reached the optimal level, and got to his feet with only a small amount of clumsiness. He tried to keep his back mostly turned to Eames, but it would have looked ridiculous if he'd scooted out of the room that way.

"There you go," he said, gesturing to the steaming tub.

"Bless you," Eames gushed, with real feeling in his words, and Arthur could see out of the corner of his eye that he was smiling brilliantly, honestly. He realized that he really loved the way Eames' two front teeth were so badly mismatched, that he found it made Eames' smile that much more charming, and he knew that he was badly sunk.

"Yeah, well," he managed, and then he made a quick escape. He didn't _quite_ slam his bedroom door behind him... but it was a close thing.

He curled up in a ball on his bed, trying to will away his throbbing hard-on. Because jerking off when Eames was naked in the bathtub just to the other side of the door was incredibly tempting... but it would also have been a really spectacularly bad idea.

Especially when their parents were just down the hall, in the kitchen, making dinner.

Oh, God, he was totally screwed.

***

Eames sank back into the hot tub with a heartfelt sigh. He was sore as hell, and his pride had received as much of a drubbing as his body had done. Time was he'd have been able to take down three assholes by himself, even if they were all bigger than him. He must be out of practice, out of shape.

Of course, he was also in a new home, and he didn't want to get into more trouble than his Mum could handle. Before, he had never cared if he'd been kicked out of any particular school. But now he had friends, real actual _friends_ , people who he liked and wanted to continue seeing, people who he wanted to continue liking him.

And there was Arthur. If Eames had badly hurt or crippled any of those bastards, he probably couldn't have been able to continue riding to school with Arthur each morning, sharing a few classes, sitting together at lunch.... And that would have been intolerable.

Eames could have done it. He knew how to damage people in ways that would taken them out, in ways that they might not recover from. But then he would have broken his mother's heart and almost certainly been kicked out of school, so he'd been a bit handicapped going into that fight.

He was still boggling over the fact that Principal Saito had been reasonable and hadn't pinned all the blame on Eames and Arthur. In his past experience, authority figures tended to side with the bullies. Fischer, the vice principal, had certainly seemed equally pissed at all five of them. Principal Saito and his wicked intelligences was another reason to stay out of trouble as much as he could, and not get himself kicked out of this school. It was so rare that a teacher liked Eames, much less the man in charge of the entire school.

Not that Principal Saito didn't still terrify Eames. But it felt amazing knowing that the man actually gave a shit about him. It made Eames want to live up to his expectations.

As the hot water relaxed his muscles, easing his aches a little, loosening his tense joints, Eames rolled his head back against the cool rim of the tub, staring blankly at the stippled ceiling above him.

Arthur had been amazing. Eames had been seeing double for a bit after getting clipped in the head, and then he'd leapt right back into the fray, had been a little distracted, but he'd caught enough of Arthur's moves to know that he was hugely impressed. As he had thought when he'd first met him, Arthur was lean and wiry, his slenderness deceptive, disguising the true strength of his limbs.

Eames felt his cock twitch slightly at the thought of Arthur's body... but he was too tired and beaten down to really get hard. His ribs ached, his face hurt, and he could still feel the spot where a heavy foot had met his lower belly, right in the soft spot next to his pelvic bone. Just a few centimeters to the south and he'd have been in a world of agony; he'd been really lucky not to have caught a real nutcracker of a blow. At least one of his opponents hadn't been so fortunate.

Bastard had fucking deserved it, though.

Eames had been really glad to find that Arthur had been able to defend himself. It made Eames feel better... or at least less awful about his own unexpected attraction toward him. Because, the fact was that Mum's last boyfriend before Oscar had been more interested in a barely pubescent Eames than had been seemly. Which had been a large part of why Eames had acted out enough to get himself banished to boarding school. It hadn't ever reached the point of no return, thank God, but Eames had definitely been made to feel more than a little intimidated and uncomfortable, had been forced to endure more than a few bad touches before he'd escaped.

And that was why he would never do anything that smacked even slightly of coercion, especially in regards to Arthur.

Not that he _was_ going to do anything in regards to Arthur. That was just a bad idea overall. They were _stepbrothers_ , nothing more. And that was all that they could be, no matter how insanely good looking, smart, competent, and desirable Arthur was.

And he was. Oh, God, he was. To a ridiculous extent.

Well. Even if Eames were willing to make a move -- which, for the record, he wasn't -- there would be no chance that Arthur would return his interest. For all the same reasons that Eames found Arthur to be incredible and sexy, Arthur could have had anyone, _anyone_. Okay, so he hadn't been able to enthrall whichever of the Dom-Mal duplet he had been in love with. But that was only because they had been so taken with one another. And Eames was certain that they had to be the exception. He still thought that Arthur and Ariadne would make a fine couple.

It was true that those bullies had called Arthur a fag, but that didn't mean that he actually was one. Hell, Eames had heard Yusuf called a poof before, and he was one hundred percent certain that his friend was absolutely straight. One night of drunken fumbling when Eames had needed a little raw comfort had proven that. He was just grateful that Yusuf was kind-hearted and forgiving, and had been willing to pretend that the entire thing had never happened.

He was still emailing Yusuf, letting him know how he was getting on in America, and Yusuf was keeping him abreast of the gossip at his old school. Granted, Eames could hardly give less of a fuck now that he was no longer there, but it seemed to amuse Yusuf to send him the snippets that he did, and Eames was just grateful that they hadn't drifted apart yet.

He hadn't told Yusuf about his intense attraction toward his stepbrother. That just didn't seem like a good idea. Call him paranoid, but Eames didn't want to put anything in writing, where it might conceivably come to light at some point in the future. Not that he thought Yusuf would leak anything. Not that he thought Arthur would go snooping. Not that he was conceited enough to assume that _anyone_ in the world outside his little circle would care about his romantic angst. But Eames had had things like that come back to bite him in the arse before, and with something this major, he wasn't taking any chances.

Eames sighed again, more heavily this time. When had his personal life become such a tragic comedy?

He hadn't felt as though he'd been soaking long, but the water was growing cool and his fingers and toes were pruning when there came a brisk knock at the door that led to the hallway.

"Eames? Are you still in there? Your mother said to tell you dinner is ready."

It was Oscar, and he still sounded perfectly calm and normal. Eames wasn't used to having a steady parental figure in his life, and he couldn't help that he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Well, if Oscar hadn't gone off on him when he'd gotten into a fight at school, maybe the man really was okay.

"Be right there," he called, sitting up with a wince, and pulling the plug. He'd soaked his face a bit with a warm washcloth; his eye was stinging, his lip throbbing, and he was beginning to get a headache, which could probably be attributed to the kick in the head he'd taken. But his stomach, bruised and taut as it was, was letting him know in no uncertain terms that he was _hungry_. And whatever other domestic duties she failed at, his Mum was an excellent cook.

Eames dried off and got dressed as quickly as he could when it hurt to move. He'd be willing to bet just about anything that Mum hadn't even noticed that she didn't have to do any of the chores around the house. That Arthur had been doing them all. And he'd have been just as willing to bet that Arthur was _glad_ to be doing them all.

Eames didn't mind not having to do any cleaning. Arthur could have that chore. He did wish that Arthur would let him cook more often, but now that Mum was back she did most of that. And, actually, shortly after their parents had returned from their honeymoon, Eames had found a way to compromise on the chore burden. He had discovered that Arthur violently disliked doing laundry, and since Eames generally had no problem with that particular task, he'd gleefully taken it over. It gave him _something_ to do.

Besides, when _he_ did the laundry, that meant he could wash his sheets as often as he wanted without it raising any awkward questions. And with Arthur in the bedroom to the other side of the bathroom that they shared.... Well, Eames tried to be neat, but some nights he just ended up making more of a mess of his bed than was seemly.

***

Arthur couldn't stop glancing at Eames repeatedly during dinner. He desperately hoped that Eames wouldn't notice, that their parents wouldn't notice, and yet he couldn't help himself.

Eames looked rakish and sexy, with his wet hair, his flushed cheeks, the dark scab on his plump pink lip, and the bruise ringing his eye. He was wearing loose sweats, but Arthur could clearly remember the sculpted muscles and the intriguing tattoos that were now hidden beneath. Even the sweats themselves were tempting; soft and worn, they looked as though they'd be as comfortable to cuddle up against as they would be to wear. Of course, the fact of Eames being _in_ them... well.

Arthur didn't think he'd ever been as attracted to anyone as he was to Eames. Not even back before Dom and Mal had gotten together. As handsome as Dom was, as beautiful as Mal was, they were both so... so perfect. Eames was incredibly attractive, but he was also flawed. His teeth were proof positive that he had not grown up in America. He had pointy ears. His nose looked as though it may have been broken at some point, and his lips were actually _too_ plump.

Of course, his lips were also amazing and sensual. He had clean cheekbones and a strong jaw and chin. His eyes were ever shifting grey, well-shaped and full of alert intelligence. And the body on him....

But he was Arthur's stepbrother, and even if he hadn't been, Arthur still had no clue whether Eames might be even mildly attracted to males. And even if he _wasn't_ completely straight, why would he want Arthur? Arthur was scrawny by comparison to Eames, with a funny-looking face, big ears, and a less than sparkling personality. He was smart, true, but so were a lot of people....

Hell, if Eames had wanted someone who was smart, skinny, and had dark hair and eyes with a pale complexion, he could have Ariadne, right? He still might win her over. Arthur had seen Ariadne flirt with Eames the way she had _never_ flirted with _anyone_. It was only his own selfishness and jealousy that kept him from offering to try to set them up, that kept him from bowing out gracefully whenever it was the three of them alone together.

"Arthur, are you all right?" Gloria asked him, her blue eyes wide and honestly concerned. He flushed slightly, glad that he had been staring down at his plate and not at Eames just now. "How is your poor cheek?"

He raised a hand, prodding at the bruise before he thought, then wincing and hissing; more at his own stupidity than the actual pain. "I'm okay," he assured her, because it was true. He'd been hurt a lot worse in the past when he'd been set upon by bullies, when no one had been around to come to his rescue.

Eames was watching him with a dark expression on his face, and not for the first time Arthur wished that he knew what the other boy was thinking.

"Really, I'm okay," he repeated, because it seemed silly to focus on his one little bruise when Eames was sitting there with so much more damage to both his face and his body.

Arthur was still amazed by the fact that they hadn't gotten into trouble. Oh, Vice Principal Fischer had been pretty pissed at them, all of them. But Principal Saito, Dad, Gloria.... None of them had blamed Arthur for starting the fight or Eames for joining in, none of them had yelled at them or punished them.... It was a novel experience, and one that Arthur very much appreciated.

Now, he only hoped that the three jocks who had gone after him were smart enough to stay the hell away from both Arthur and Eames from here on out. He hoped that the damage they had taken would outweigh any possible need for revenge. They'd already proven that three of them together couldn't take on Arthur and Eames. Hopefully their pride wouldn't allow them to admit that they needed help, would prevent them from soliciting aid from more of their teammates.

Well, if they came after them again, Arthur vowed he wouldn't hold back. And he suspected Eames wouldn't either. He had a distinct suspicion that Eames was capable of perpetrating a _lot_ more damage than he had done.

"We're going to be gone a week," Dad was saying as Arthur's attention drifted back to the conversation. This was no surprise. His father travelled a lot for his job, and they'd already discussed the fact that Gloria would be going with him, leaving Arthur and Eames to care for themselves. This was no hardship for Arthur; he'd been staying at home by himself since he'd been twelve.

It was actually comforting to know that he would be home with Eames now, instead of being all alone in the big, empty house. On the other hand, knowing that he would be here with just Eames made his libido go into overdrive. Not that he could do anything about it....

"You boys will be all right, won't you?" Gloria was fussing.

Eames rolled his eyes, which looked a little painful, what with his blooming shiner. "You know that I can take care of myself, Mum."

There was an edge of bitterness to his tone that made Gloria's face fall slightly, even though Eames hadn't been lashing out, hadn't meant the words as a reproach. At least, Arthur thought not, from the way the undamaged corner of Eames' mouth tightened, and the way he winced slightly.

"Really, Mum," he insisted, and he spoke the words more gently this time. "Arthur and I can run the show by ourselves, yeah? No worries."

Arthur nodded, not wanting to be drawn into the uncomfortable discussion, but feeling the need to back Eames up.

"I know," Gloria said, her hands fluttering, and her eyes were wide and glistening as she glanced back and forth between them. "My two lovely boys. You can take care of one another while we're away."

Arthur had to quell a host of perverse mental images that this innocent declaration brought to mind. Dammit, the dinner table was not the place for sexual fantasies!

He didn't mind that Gloria had taken to mothering him so wholeheartedly, but he wasn't used to it. His own mother had died when he had been six, and while he still had beautiful memories of her, he no longer quite knew how to deal with having a maternal figure in his life. Besides, in a lot of ways, Gloria reminded him of a teenager herself. She was a lovely woman and she meant well, but she also struck him as less mature than Ariadne was, less matronly than Mal could often be.

He was also grateful that Eames didn't seem to mind the fact that his mother had decided to be Arthur's "mother" in actuality as well as name. At least, Eames didn't _appear_ to be jealous. If anything, he seemed to be glad to have someone to share Gloria's occasionally overwhelming attentions.

And that was something else that Arthur found hard to deal with. His own father was loving but distant. He took care of Arthur's needs, he made sure that Arthur was growing up to be a good person with marketable skills and a proper education, and he made sure that Arthur knew he was loved, but for the most part he left Arthur to raise himself.

Gloria, in contrast, was hands-on, openly affectionate, and she loved to cook for them, giving them all plenty of hugs and kisses. She flashed her bright eyes and a big smile so easily that it was clear she was delighted with her new family. And yet.... And yet there was something off about all this. Not because it was an act, but because there was some sort of strange desperation in her. As though she was afraid she might lose it all if she didn't cling tightly enough. And there was also the way she was with Eames.

That she loved her son was undeniable. Arthur would never have doubted this. But there was something between them, some sort of emotional wedge that was just as unspoken and even wider than the gulf between Arthur and his father. Arthur didn't know what it was, but it was there, it was real, and it made him feel sad at the same time he was curious.

It was as though Eames loved his mother but didn't _trust_ her. And she knew this and wanted to change it, but didn't know how.

Or maybe Arthur had it all wrong. Without asking Eames, he couldn't know, and there was no way he was asking Eames. It wasn't any of his business. They were brothers, but in name only. They were friends, but they hadn't known each other long enough for deep emotional confessions.

Then, of course, there was the way that Eames was with Arthur's father. That was another matter entirely. Eames was perfectly polite and sometimes even friendly, and yet Arthur didn't think that Eames _liked_ his Dad very much. He had trouble meeting his eyes, seemed to avoid being in the same room as him outside of meals, and he flinched away from physical contact. It was sort of the way that Arthur felt about Gloria, only much worse, much more magnified.

Well, they were still working on becoming a functional family. And for all she was so clearly willing it every time they were together, Gloria couldn't just _make_ it happen.

Maybe it would be nice to have both their parents gone for a while, Arthur mused. Take some of the pressure off for a bit.

And, if nothing else, at least he might feel a little less _wrong_ jerking off to thoughts of Eames if he didn't know his Dad and Gloria were just down the hall.

Bad enough he did it just one room away from Eames.

"We'll be fine," he echoed Eames, smiling at both their parents.

He had no way of knowing when he uttered the words that they were going to end up being the complete opposite of the truth.

***

The shit didn't actually hit the fan until a few days later. Arthur had gone out for the evening with Ariadne; to a party, as a matter of fact. It had been Ariadne's idea, since Arthur wasn't generally the type to go to parties. But she hadn't wanted to go alone, and so it was up to Arthur to take her.

Eames had had one of his attacks of magnanimity, of self sacrifice, and had bowed out in the vague hope that the two of them would end up considering it a date or some such. Besides which, he barely knew anyone at the school, once he'd deliberately torpedoed his initial burst of potential popularity, and would have felt awkward surrounded by them. So it was as much to save himself the trouble as it was in the hopes that Arthur and Ariadne might get a clue.

And so he had wound up hanging about alone in his room. He had absently contemplating jerking off, but that would have seemed a little strange to do so with thoughts of Arthur in his head whilst Arthur was out with Ariadne. And Eames had somehow lost all ability to rub one out without visualizing his delicious stepbrother. So that was right out. Unless he imagined what Arthur and Ariadne might get up to _together_... but that thought killed his boner instantly.

He'd gotten to the point where he was actually considering doing his _homework_ , God save him, even though it was only Friday night, when his mobile rang. He glanced at the screen, then did a double take when he saw the caller ID. Punching the green button, he answered with incredulity.

"Yusuf?"

"So who is he?" he friend across the seas asked without preamble. The mere sound of his soft voice with its lilting accent relaxed the tense muscles of Eames' back despite the point blank question he had just asked.

"Who is _who_?" Eames responded, honestly confounded.

Yusuf sighed, but he seemed as much amused as exasperated. "This lad who has captured your heart."

"What?" Eames knew his jaw had just dropped, because how in the hell had Yusuf known that? Eames was sure he hadn't breathed a word of his feelings toward Arthur. "What are you on about?" he blustered, doing his best to deflect.

"Oh, please," Yusuf snorted, though he did it in a remarkably gentile manner, the same way he did everything. Eames didn't think he'd even known anyone so mellow. "I can read between the lines, my friend, and _you_ are madly in love. And since I know it can't be but another bloke, that narrows the range of pronouns down considerably."

"Oh, piss off," Eames said crankily, though to be honest, he was smiling like a loon. How he had missed Yusuf. This was the reason he was friends with the other boy; Yusuf was quick and empathetic, and he could be tactful and yet blunt at once, in a way that no one else Eames had ever met seemed to be able to accomplish.

"That doesn't answer my question."

"I'm not going to answer your question," Eames told him sharply. "And besides," he continued thoughtfully, "I'm fairly certain that it is my dick that has been engaged, not my heart."

"So you say," Yusuf chuckled. "But I'm here to tell you differently."

Eames had a snappy comeback to that sally, he was sure he did, but at that point there came a little beep to derail him.

"Hang on a tick; someone else is ringing me," he commanded, pulling his mobile away from his ear to glance at the screen. His brows rose in surprise, and he switched over to the other line. "Arthur?"

There was an extended moment of silence, but Eames was pretty sure he could hear Arthur breathing. He scowled, all kinds of worrisome scenarios running through his mind. "Arthur?" he snapped sharply.

"Oh, hey, Eames," Arthur said, sounding completely disingenuous, and yet also a little honestly surprised at the same time. His voice and tone were _off_ , and Eames had a sinking feeling that he already knew why.

"What's going on?" he asked, the words coming out tight and grim.

"I just.... I was just wondering if...." There was a small gagging sound and then a rustle of material, and Ariadne came on the line.

"Hi, Eames!" she said cheerily, speaking overly-loudly in his ear. "Arthur can't talk right now, he's busy throwing up. We're at the party and he was supposed to be my designated driver, but Dom and Mal were here, and he got a little wasted, and I'm too buzzed to drive, so we kind of need you to come and pick us up."

Eames felt his face clench in a hard expression, his eyes burning, anger and disappointment a sodden lump of pain in the base of his stomach. That was about what he had thought. He could hear Arthur retching in the background, and in this moment he felt absolutely zero sympathy for the other boy.

"Because it'll be so much more legal for _me_ to be driving," he said harshly. He still hadn't gotten his license, thanks to all the hoops he'd have had to leap through and the fact that Oscar and his Mum were so seldom home when he needed them. He _could_ drive, of course; it would just be very illegal.

Not that it hadn't been illegal for him to drive in England as well, since he'd still been a year under the age to get his driving license before moving to the States. But getting in trouble seemed so much worse now that he had made a fresh start, the rewards no longer worth the risks.

"Well." Ariadne sounded a little bit cowed. "At least with your driving, lives won't be in danger, right?"

Eames breathed in and out sharply through his nose, trying to control his rising rage. He could understand the chain of events. Absolutely. But Arthur getting drunk like this was throwing him right back into memories of growing up with an alcoholic father, and he could have _hit_ Arthur for doing this, for dragging him into this mess.

Only that made him feel even worse, because it had been his father doing the hitting in the past and Eames was _never_ going to become the man his father had been.

"Give me the address," he finally bit out, not trusting himself to say more.

"We're at the Fischer place," Ariadne said, and to her credit, she now sounded completely serious. "Robert is hosting the last big party before winter break while his father is out of town."

"And _that_ is just bloody brilliant," Eames said scathingly, rage rising once again. "Getting pissed in the home of the vice principal of our school." Before Ariadne could say anything in defense of the indefensible, Eames cut her off. "I've no clue where that is."

"I'll text you the address," she said in a tiny voice. "It's just a block past the Cobol Country Club. Arthur said that the Prius keys are in the bowl in the front entrance, where they usually are. We took my truck to the party. It's parked outside the house, about halfway down the block."

"All right." Eames was already rising and sliding on his trainers. He was aware he was holding his mobile so tightly that the plastic was creaking in his ear, but he couldn't seem to loosen his grip. "Don't let Arthur out of your sight until I get there."

He thought that he heard Ariadne utter an apology of some sort as he switched back to Yusuf, but he didn't much care. He wasn't really angry at _her_ , since she hadn't forced Arthur to drink, but he didn't know if he could be civil right now. To her or anyone.

"I have to go," he told Yusuf abruptly, knowing that his voice was tight and breathy, though he couldn't be sure whether it was worry or rage choking him more. Most likely it was a combination of both. "Arthur needs me."

"Oh, _Arthur_ ," Yusuf said, as though he had just been enlightened. And even though he valued Yusuf dearly as a friend, Eames was in such a foul mood now that he simply hung up before throwing himself across the room to grab his jacket and go in search of the car keys.

Yusuf would forgive him his rudeness. Ariadne was going to owe him into infinity. And Arthur.... Well, Eames couldn't think of Arthur right this instant without being overcome with a blinding rage. So he tried not to.

And yet, it didn't seem as though he could focus on anything else.

_Fuck._

***

This had been a magnificently horrible idea, Arthur thought to himself, huddled miserably on the back of Ariadne's pickup.

Coming to the party. Getting drunk. And calling Eames for help. All of these had been terrible, awful ideas. He almost wished that this was a nightmare he could wake out of, and yet he knew that it was reality. His dreams were usually crisp and fairly lucid, it was true. But he couldn't have dreamt up the nausea even now threatening to have him vomiting again, the swirling of the world around him, the uncomfortable hardness of the truck bed under his ass, the coldness of the air that was combating the heat in his face.

He wanted nothing more than to be dreaming this, and yet he couldn't have been more certain he _wasn't_ dreaming.

"You're an idiot," Ariadne told him conversationally. She was seated beside him, legs pulled up close to her chest for warmth, but one hand rubbing circles on his hunched back. "You really shouldn't have gotten this drunk."

He groaned out something that was supposed to be, "I know," but which didn't really sound like words at all. His throat was raw from all the booze and the bile he'd heaved up, his eyes were burning, and his entire ribcage ached as though he'd gotten the shit kicked out of him.

"Eames is really angry," Ariadne added, her tone more subdued. "Like, really _really_. I'm a little afraid to see him when he gets here."

Arthur felt the same way, even if he couldn't bring the words together in his brain to agree. And yet, what choice had they had? It was too far to walk. Ariadne wasn't anywhere near as blitzed as Arthur, but she'd drunk too much to be able to drive before she'd noticed Arthur's descent. Taking a cab hadn't seemed like a good idea, since the driver might have reported the underage drinking going on in Robert's house, and yet by this point, Arthur was beginning to think it might have been preferable. He hadn't been able to talk to Eames for long before having to go puke on the Fischer lawn again, and things had been a little swimmy, but he was pretty sure he hadn't imagined the anger and disapproval he'd heard in Eames' voice.

It made him feel like even _more_ of an idiot than Ariadne had declared him to be. It made his feel lower than low. It made him want to throw up again, only that would have _hurt_ , and Eames would be here soon. The last thing Arthur wanted was for Eames to pull up in time to see Arthur puking again.

"You shouldn't let it get to you," Ariadne was telling him, leaning close and hugging him, resting her soft cheek against his flushed one. She really was a true friend, if she was willing to hold him like this when he had just been heaving his guts out. "Dom and Mal? You need to let it go, Arthur."

"I know," he croaked, closing his eyes because they were stinging, but then opening them again when alcohol-induced vertigo set his head whirling. This was the first time in his life he had gotten this drunk, and it was going to be the last time. That, he absolutely vowed.

In his defense, he hadn't realized how wasted he was getting until he staggered and almost hurled all over the Japanese exchange student, Tadashi. That had been when he had grabbed Ariadne and made a strategic retreat to the front lawn, where he could puke in peace and then call Eames for a ride. And then, evidently, puke some more.

"Oh, God," he moaned, lowering his head onto his knees. He was never going to live this down. He didn't think that anyone in the house had noticed his excessive inebriation, but it wasn't any of _them_ he was concerned about. It was _Eames_. Eames was coming to his rescue again, only this time he didn't deserve it, and he already knew that Eames was pissed at him.

"And have we learned our lesson?" Ariadne asked sweetly, as though this were all some big joke and not one of the largest mistakes in Arthur's life.

He silently but eloquently raised his middle finger. Ariadne laughed and Arthur rethought their entire friendship in this moment.

"Oops, here he comes," she said, going tense beside him. He recognized the purr of the Prius' engine in the dark, deserted street. Eames was here and that was a good thing, right? So how come it didn't feel good _or_ right....

Arthur groaned pitifully.

***

Eames drove Ariadne home in utter silence. Though, to be fair, he kind of needed to concentrate. It had been a while since he'd last gone joyriding in England and everything was on the wrong side here in the States, inside the car and out. He wasn't quite certain that Ariadne had been correct in assuming that they'd be safer with him driving, rather than her.

"I'm sorry, Eames," she said mournfully once he pulled up outside her house. He nodded, not able to reassure her, but unwilling to lay into her properly. After all, it wasn't her fault that Arthur had made bad choices.

Ariadne gave him a hangdog look, big brown eyes wide and sincere, then she flashed Arthur -- who was slumped in the back seat, hot cheek pressed against the window -- a look that was equal parts exasperated, affectionate, sympathetic, and irritated.

The hell of it was, Eames knew exactly how she felt.

"Don't be too hard on him, okay?" she whispered to Eames, though he was of the opinion that she could have spoken in a normal voice and Arthur wouldn't have heard her.

"I won't," Eames replied stiffly, getting the words out through a tight jaw.

Ariadne gave him a worried look, seeming to recognize even though the fog of her own buzz that Eames had issues aside from what Arthur had done this evening. She hesitated, and Eames shook his head. He didn't want to talk about it. At all, much less now.

She bowed her head in acknowledgement and got out of the car. Eames waited to be sure she got safely in before he headed for home. He wasn't looking forward to dealing with Arthur, making sure he got poured into bed, making sure he hadn't given himself alcohol poisoning, making sure he would survive the night....

He managed it all just fine, though. Got Arthur stripped to his skivvies, tucked him under his comforter, then set his waste bin beside the bed, just in case.

"Here," he said, propping Arthur up and pressing some ibuprofen and a multivitamin into his hand, wielding a glass of water. Arthur pulled a sour face, and Eames insisted. "It'll help you feel less dreadful in the morning."

Granted, he didn't think _anything_ was going to save Arthur from having one hell of a hangover, but it was the best he had to offer. And it couldn't have hurt, getting some water into him.

Arthur gagged a little, and Eames was ready to grab the waste bin, but he got the pills and the water down without incident, then sank into the covers with a small moan.

"'M sorry, Eames," he slurred, and it was only because he _knew_ what Arthur was saying that Eames understood him.

He was still vibrating with tension; fear and rage fighting it out in his system. He'd been plunged back into bad memories. He'd had to drive illegally, which hadn't been that bad but had been a stupid thing to do. He'd also had to witness Arthur doing something incredibly stupid without being able to stop him or fix it. He was... he was simply _done_.

"Just get some sleep," he growled, planting his hand on Arthur's head, feeling his hair soft under his palm, tickling his wrist. He wanted to card his fingers through the dark strands, but even more than that he wanted to run away, far away.

He could only get as far as the next bedroom over. But that was where he went. And he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep, but damned if he could do anything else, either.

***

Arthur woke up the next morning. Well, technically he woke in the morning but he didn't get out of bed until three hours had passed and it was actually afternoon.

He promptly tripped over his wastebasket, staring down at it blankly, then shoving it out of the way with his foot.

Every movement hurt. Everything that touched him caused pain, including himself. His head was pounding, his eyes were puffy, his sinuses felt raw, his throat was still sore, his ribs hurt, and his abdominals ached as though he'd been punched, but he knew it was just from the way they had been flexing while he had been heaving the night before.

He staggered into the bathroom and took a long leak, wincing at the sound of his urine striking the bowl. He might as well resign himself to _everything_ causing him agony today. He deserved it; for over-drinking and for what he had put Eames through.

Once his bladder was empty, he brushed his teeth vigorously, trying to rid them of what felt like a thick fuzzy film. It nearly had him puking again, but he had nothing left to throw up and so he forced down his automatic reaction. He didn't think his stomach muscles could take any more of that anyway.

He almost wished he could throw up again, because it seemed as though it would make him feel better. But he knew that it really wouldn't. He'd just hurt more and not be able to bring anything up, and with the way his head felt now, he thought it might actually explode.

After he finished brushing his teeth he took some pain pills, drank two full glasses of water, and then made his way into the shower. He was covered in a cold sweat, felt gritty and gross. His _hair follicles_ felt tender and his joints ached. The hot water actually soothed his throbbing head and made him feel a little bit better.

Of course, a little bit better than death warmed over was still pretty awful.

He very slowly, very carefully dressed in his most comfortable clothing, and it was around this point that he realized both the fact that he was stalling, and the fact that he had run out of ways to stall. He was going to have to emerge and face Eames eventually.

First, though, he checked his phone. There were several texts from Ariadne, from the night before and from this morning.

_[11:58pm I'm sorry.]_

_[12:05am Tell Eames I'm sorry. Tell him you're sorry.]_

_[1:00am you've really got to let it go arthur]_

_[9:42am I hope you're alive this morning.]_

_[1:14pm CALL ME!]_

He wanted to call her, wanted her to fill in the foggy gray spaces in his memories from the night before, but he felt that it was better to face the music now rather than later. So he just texted her back.

_[2:30pm I'm alive. I feel like shit. You're absolutely right. I'm going to apologize.]_

He thought that covered everything, but he wasn't going to double check. Instead, he summoned every ounce of courage he had and left his bedroom.

He wasn't ready to face Eames, but he wasn't ever going to be. So now was as good a time as any to do so.

***

Arthur probably felt about as bad as he looked as he slunk into the kitchen, and Eames did feel sorry for him, honestly, but the fact of the matter was that Arthur had brought this upon himself.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, before Eames could speak. His voice was hoarse and scratchy, he had huge bags under his eyes, and he was slumped out of his usual upright posture. "I'm sorry, Eames."

"It's all right," Eames replied. He didn't want to get into it, and Arthur looked as though a stiff breeze might knock him over. "Sit down," he directed, fetching a bottle of water out of the fridge.

Arthur looked for a moment as though he might protest, but he was swaying where he stood, and so he did as Eames had directed him, falling into one of the chairs with a wince.

"I don't think coffee would be a good idea on your tender stomach," Eames remarked, setting the water on the table before Arthur. "Do you think some tea would...?"

"Yes, please," Arthur said fervently, reaching for the water. His hands were shaking, and Eames had to turn away, overwhelmed with images of his father in the mornings. He busied himself getting the tea brewed, ignoring Arthur where he slumped at the table.

"Do you think you can eat anything?" he asked, as he put the steaming mug down before Arthur. The other boy was beginning to look more human, but Eames was sure it was going to be at least a good twenty-four hours before he felt back to normal again. Just because Eames had had his father's bad example didn't mean that he hadn't experimented with alcohol himself; he'd quickly decided it wasn't for him, but he _did_ know what a bad hangover felt like.

At least Arthur had woken up in his own bed.

"I--" Arthur's face twisted in indecision.

"Let me make you up something mild and if the smell doesn't completely put you off you can try eating it," Eames suggested, walking over to the fridge. "You need to restore the nutrients you've depleted, as well as rehydrating."

Arthur was silent as Eames hunted down something to cook. He finally decided on some tomato soup and a tuna salad sandwich. Hopefully Arthur would be able to eat one or both of these.

"I wish... I wish you weren't being nice to me," Arthur finally said in a choked little voice that Eames barely heard over the sound of the tin opener.

He turned and looked at Arthur. "I'm really not," he replied mildly. He wasn't. He was being civil, that was about it.

Arthur looked like a tragedy that had already happened. Eames sighed, but he'd run out of comforting words. He wasn't angry at Arthur, not really, but it was hard to think of anything more reassuring to say. So he didn't. He cooked for him instead.

Eames made enough food for both of them and then joined Arthur at the table. They ate in silence.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said again, looking at Eames miserably. He'd managed most of one bowl and half a sandwich. Eames had his own bowl and the other half sandwich; normally he ate more, but his stomach was in knots right now. "I'm really sorry, Eames. And Ariadne said to say she was sorry too."

Eames nodded. "She already apologized last night." He met Arthur's eyes steadily, knowing that his own gaze was shuttered even while Arthur's was open and pleading. "I told her then, and I'm telling you now, it's perfectly all right."

"But it's not," Arthur persisted, his hand clenching around his empty mug. "I got drunk, and asked you to do something illegal. I made a complete fool of myself."

Eames was silent, considering his reply. Finally he spoke quietly. "You're right. You did all that. But you're going to learn from your mistake, yeah? Not going to go out and repeat it?"

"Oh, hell, no!" Arthur exclaimed, his face drawn in horror. "I'm never touching alcohol again!"

Eames smiled slightly. That was the hangover talking, but so long as Arthur had learned his lesson, Eames felt better.

"How's your head?" he asked solicitously. He could tell from the lines between Arthur's brows that he wasn't pain-free yet.

"Still hurts," Arthur verified, raising a shaking hand to touch his temple. The bruise on his cheekbone from their encounter with the bullies had faded to a dull yellow, healing faster than Eames' own. Eames still had a pretty impressive black eye, but there hadn't been any more incidents at school after that initial scuffle. Either word had spread fast, or not at all, and either way, he was glad.

"Go ahead and go back to bed," Eames instructed, reaching for Arthur's bowl. "You'll feel better when you wake up."

Arthur frowned, but he was too wiped out from eating lunch to protest.

"I'm sorry," he said again, as he moved to leave the kitchen.

"Take this with you," Eames directed, getting him another bottle of water.

"Thank you," Arthur said, in a sad little voice, giving Eames puppy-dog eyes.

Eames was charmed in spite of himself, and reached out to squeeze Arthur's upper arm. "It's all right. Go on and take a nap, darling."

***

Once he reached his bedroom Arthur shut off all the lights and crawled into bed, hiding under the covers with his phone. Ariadne had texted him a few more times, but he didn't bother reading them, instead calling her back directly.

"Did I say anything stupid?" he asked her, point blank.

"Say? No, not really," she said tartly. "You were too busy puking. Do? Well...."

"Oh, shut up," he grumbled. "I know I _did_ something stupid."

"Arthur--"

He recognized her tone of voice and cut her off before she could get started. "I'm over it, Ariadne, honest. I just.... Last night was stupid, but I'm ready to be over it. I am. Honestly."

"I believe you," she told him, and he frowned.

"You do?"

"Yes. I believe you're _ready_ , not that you _are_."

Arthur's frown became a grimace. That was the problem with having smart friends. "Semantics," he growled. Fortunately for him, Ariadne didn't seem to want to dwell over either his angst or his regrettable reaction to said angst, seemed willing to move the conversation forward.

"How was Eames this morning?" she whispered, and she sounded trepidatious. "He was so angry last night."

"He." Arthur swallowed tightly. "He helped me get to bed... put out the wastebasket for me... and then he made me lunch just now."

"But...?"

Arthur bit his lip and rubbed at the knot of pain that was catching between his furrowed brows. "He said it was okay, said he accepted my apology, but I can tell he's still pissed."

Ariadne sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I shouldn't have dragged you to that party."

"It was my choice to get drunk."

"Just accept my apology, you jerk." Now she was laughing at him. And instead of upsetting him, it made him feel better, made him feel as though things were going to be okay. Somehow.

"Only if you accept mine," he returned, because he had been supposed to be her designated driver and instead he'd gotten hammered.

"Deal. Now get some rest. Once you've recovered, you need to help me go and get my truck back."

"Oh, shit."

She laughed at him again. "Just sleep, Arthur."

And so he did.

***

They still had a good four days before their parents were due to return. Normally Eames would have been reveling in the lack of adult supervision, but right now he just wanted his Mum and Oscar back, in the hopes of breaking up the tension between himself and Arthur a little.

He was perfectly civil. Arthur was appallingly contrite. But things were very definitely awkward between the two of them.

It wasn't even that Eames was bearing a grudge. He had no right to hold anything over Arthur's head. Even the fact that he'd had to drive illegally; after all, that had been his choice. And he'd certainly done far stupider, far more dangerous things himself, before moving to America. Many times over, in fact. He had no sense of moral superiority, that was for certain sure.

It was just that it had been like a personal blow, seeing Arthur a good ten sheets to the wind. It wasn't like Arthur had been abusive when drunk. And he had sworn off booze once he'd sobered up. But it just... it had just brought up too many bad memories. And Eames was having a lot of trouble dealing with these. It wasn't even Arthur; it was all Eames' issues.

But he couldn't think of any way to communicate this to Arthur. Not without giving away more of himself than he was comfortable with.

And so he said nothing, which was almost as bad. Maybe even worse.

***

Arthur put up with the cold shoulder and the silent treatment that he was getting from Eames for two full days, but that was all he could stand.

He wasn't used to communicating his emotions. _That_ was an understatement. He had gone out of his way to avoid emotional complications in the past, and it had cost him. But his relationship with Eames was too important to him; whether it was as stepbrothers, as friends, or both.

Unfortunately, he _wasn't_ used to communicating his feelings, and so even though he had built up several different powerful arguments in his head, had run through several different conversational scenarios, what he ended up doing was confronting Eames in the kitchen and just blurting out something that he really had not meant to say.

"Why are you being such a dick?"

"What?" Eames turned from where he was doing the dishes -- without offering to let Arthur help -- and stared at him blankly. He didn't appear angry, yet, but Arthur figured that as soon as his brain caught up with Arthur's mouth, he would be.

And now that the ice had been _shattered_ , not simply broken, by his clumsy opening gambit, he hastened to explain.

"I apologized, lots of times. And you told me every time it was okay. And I know I did something really stupid and you bailed me out, and I appreciate that, but you don't act like you've forgiven me, and it's like it's still hanging over my head. And no matter how many times I say I'm sorry, I can't think of any way to make it right!"

Eames was still staring at him, his lips parted, and Arthur thought that it was supremely unfair that his stupid hormones kicked in right now, reminding him of how _sexy_ Eames' mouth was.

"How many times do I have to say I'm sorry?" Arthur asked helplessly, spreading his hands in supplication.

Eames blinked, then shook his head, drying his hands on the dishtowel and turning to face Arthur, leaning back against the counter. "I.... I'm sorry, Arthur," he rumbled, licking his lips nervously, his eyes lowered, hiding behind his lashes. They flickered as he glanced up. "It's not you. Really. It's me. Or, well, it's my father."

Arthur frowned. His stomach was clenching nervously, especially at the darkness he saw in Eames' gaze, but he felt a little better, knowing that it wasn't what _he_ had done that had alienated Eames. Or, at least, that was what Eames was telling him right now.

"So... then _what_...?"

Eames bit his lower lip, then winced because the split he'd gotten in their fight with the bullies was still healing. He looked young and old all at once, and he seemed uncertain as to how to continue.

"Eames?" Arthur stepped closer. He wanted to reach out and touch Eames, put his hand on his shoulder, wrap an arm around him, _pull him close and kiss him_... but now was not the time for any of this. He could feel the negativity radiating off of Eames, like a black cloud surrounding him, and he wanted to know what had caused it.

"My father was a drunk," Eames said, his head hanging, avoiding Arthur's gaze. He was wringing the dishtowel between his hands, shifting uncomfortably. "Mum said he didn't used to be, but he was the whole time I knew him. And he wasn't just a drunk; he was a mean drunk."

Arthur felt a chill wash over him, and he wanted even more to reach out to Eames, but was now even less inclined to do so.

"So it's not you, Arthur," Eames concluded, glancing up at him, his eyes glassy, his expression carefully blank. "Honestly, I've forgive you. You're sixteen; you're _supposed_ to do stupid things. I've done far, far stupider things, far more often." He shrugged helplessly. "It's just that... you know, it struck a nerve."

"I'm so sorry," Arthur said, and he meant for far more than getting drunk and begging a ride home. He was sorry for bringing those memories to the forefront of Eames' mind. He was sorry that Eames had grown up with an abusive parent. He was sorry that there was absolutely nothing he could do to make things better at this point in time.

Eames shrugged again, this time as though he was shaking the subject off, and gave Arthur a crooked smile. "It's past. He's been gone for almost four years now. And I do apologize for making you feel like I was still blaming you. That wasn't my intent at all. This hasn't been about you, Arthur. It's all been about me, and I'm the one who has to deal with it."

Arthur nodded, and he couldn't stop himself; he reached forward and placed a hand on Eames' shoulder like he had wanted to do all along. "Is there anything I can do?"

Eames didn't reject the touch. If anything, he may have leaned into it slightly. "Forgive me for being a dick?"

Arthur smiled slightly, even though it felt as though it hurt his face. "If you're ever really a dick, I'll forgive you. You're just being... human."

It had felt like a dumb thing to say, and he blushed as soon as the words were out his mouth, but he couldn't regret them when he saw the smile that they brought to Eames' face.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur and Eames spent some time after the confrontation and Eames' subsequent confession bonding. They didn't really mean to; it just kind of happened.

Mostly they talked about their parents. Arthur admitted that he was probably a little stunted in how he dealt with people due to his father's slight distance, even though he maintained that he knew his Dad loved him. And he found that Eames was perfectly willing to confirm everything that he had ever suspected about his relationship with Gloria. She hadn't been able to protect him from his father, her husband, and so even though the love between them was deep and unbreakable, Eames could never quite bring himself to completely trust her. Arthur thought it was sad, but completely justifiable. And now he finally understood the reason for the way Eames reacted to Arthur's own father.

"So all this time you've been waiting for Dad to lash out," Arthur said thoughtfully. Several things had snapped into place when he'd found out that Eames' father had been an abusive alcoholic, and that was the biggest one. "All this time I thought that you just didn't like him, but that isn't it at all. It's not that you don't _like_ him, it's that you don't _trust_ him."

"It's not even that," Eames supplied. They were lounging in the den, the television on mute, their homework strewn over the coffee table and floor. Right now they were ignoring it, Arthur reclining back in the recliner, and Eames lying on his stomach on the sofa. Arthur was trying not to look at Eames' ass, tight and pert under his worn pajama bottoms just past the dip of his lower back... and failing that, he was hoping not to get caught.

"I actually do trust your Dad," Eames continued seriously, chin resting on his folded arms. "On an intellectual level. I've known him long enough now to know he's _not_ like my father was, that he's not going to hit me or Mum, not going to be verbally abusive or cruel for the sake of being cruel. So it's not that I _don't_ trust him, it's that I _can't_. My instincts won't let me."

Arthur nodded thoughtfully. "That sucks," he said succinctly, because there wasn't really anything else he could say.

Eames grinned , flashing those off-kilter front teeth that Arthur found to be more genuinely intriguing than perfect white teeth would have been. Dom's two front teeth sort of did the same thing, he mused idly, only it wasn't as dramatic, or anything like as charming on him as it was on Eames.

Arthur almost bolted upright in the chair, almost leapt out of it and fled the room as this thought worked its way into the forefront of his brain. Holy shit! He'd known he was physically attracted to Eames since the first moment he had seen him in the airport. But this... this was another level entirely!

"You okay?" Eames asked, sounding honestly concerned. Arthur glanced over and met his earnest grey eyes, then looked away again just as quickly.

"I'm-- I'm fine," he replied, hoping that he didn't sound as breathless as he felt.

"Oh, hey, speaking of the party..." Eames said, overly casually, even though they hadn't been, for a good half hour.

"Yeah?" Arthur looked over again, anxious but curious. Eames had seemed willing to set everything behind them, especially now that they had smoothed over the misunderstanding of the last few days. Arthur was finally feeling human again after the hangover from hell, and even though Eames smirked as though he knew better, Arthur still swore he was never drinking again, not even in moderation.

Eames looked innocent, which in Arthur's limited experience did not bode well. Eames had a face made for mischief and lips built for sin, and if he looked as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.... Well, Arthur didn't know quite how to finish that sentence, but he knew that it didn't bode well for him.

"Ariadne said something, when I first answered my mobile," Eames said, speaking deliberately, as though he was choosing his words with care, and he was no longer meeting Arthur's eyes. "Something about Dom and Mal being at the party.... And the implication I got -- now, mind you, she didn't outright _say_ anything -- but the implication I got was that you had gotten drunk because of their presence there." His gaze flashed to Arthur's in a flicker of long lashes. "Am I close to the mark?"

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, moving the recliner into an upright position and leaning forward over his thighs.

"You're not wrong," he replied softly. Because if Eames hadn't guessed by now anyway, then he wasn't as smart as Arthur gave him credit for being. And Arthur was virtually certain that he wasn't wrong about Eames' intelligence.

"Okay, then." Eames smiled at him, more softly than cheekily, and Arthur felt his face heat. "So I guess then my real question is... who exactly are you jealous of?" Eames rolled onto his side, then sat up crosslegged on the sofa, staring at Arthur, his eyes bright with curiosity. "I'm sorry for just asking like this, and feel free to tell me to sod off, but it's been driving me batty, and I... I really want to know."

Arthur clasped and unclasped his hands restlessly, frowning down at the floor. There was no real reason not to confide in Eames. The only question was whether he would _believe_ Arthur. "I... Well. Both of them, really."

He shot Eames a defiant look that melted into a bit of despair when he noted the way that Eames mouth rounded. Those lips.... Dammit, he was going to _have_ to stop surprising Eames! For the sake of repressing his raging hormonal reaction, if nothing else. He was really glad that he was no longer lying back in the recliner, was leaning forward. It went a long way toward disguising the fact that his pants weren't fitting as smoothly as they had been a moment before.

"That's pretty much over with now," he hastened to clarify. "Despite what Ariadne thinks, Robert's party was the last time I... the last time I was gonna, you know, _pine_."

Eames was staring at him as though he had never seen him before; actually, more as though Arthur had grown another head, since he hadn't looked so stunned when they had met at the airport, which _had_ been the first time he had seen him.

Arthur was painfully aware of how much he had just given away, and he really hoped that he hadn't been wrong in his assessment of Eames' open-mindedness. There were a lot of people -- straight _and_ gay -- who didn't care for those who identified as bisexual. Arthur just hoped that Eames wasn't one of them. He hadn't seemed to Arthur to be the sort of guy who would judge him for something like this.

Actually, the truth of the matter was that it had been Dom that Arthur had fallen for, first and hardest. After that it had been Mal, and then the two of them had almost immediately gotten together and been so perfect and so untouchable that it had just about broken Arthur's heart. But he wasn't quite ready to come out to Eames as being more infatuated of a male than a female, even though it was true, and even though being bi was sometimes considered to be worse than being gay.

It was a strange distinction to make, but Arthur just couldn't give everything away all at once. Even to Eames, who he was pretty sure he completely trusted.

"That was unexpected," Eames said, and he sounded just as startled as he looked. His brows had risen toward his hairline and that damned sensual mouth was curved in a plump circle again. Only now Arthur was too nervous to get hard. Small blessings....

"Well." Arthur shrugged uncomfortably. He didn't really have anything to add to that. "It is what it is," he continued gruffly, trying not to sound defensive. "If you were trying to figure out if I was gay or straight, the answer is yes." He scowled and blinked. "Wait, I mean, the answer is no." He shook his head. "Well, whatever."

Eames chuckled, and he seemed to be regaining his equilibrium quickly enough. "Arthur," he drawled, in that way that sounded like a caress, that made Arthur's face heat. "You never cease to amaze me. You are constantly more complex than I give you credit for being, and for that I apologize."

"Thanks, I think?" Arthur replied dryly, but his face was hot and his heart was thumping. Eames hadn't called him a pervert or a faker right off, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't.... Then again, Eames had underestimated Arthur; maybe Arthur was underestimating Eames. Maybe he wasn't giving the other boy enough credit.

"Seriously, though," Eames said, his gaze steady and clear as he met Arthur's eyes. "I never would have guessed that in a million years. Thanks for being willing to tell me."

Arthur nodded, and felt the tightness in his stomach uncoil a little even though the lump in his throat seemed to swell. It didn't look as though Eames was going to judge him, hate him for what he was and how he felt, and that was amazing.

Of course, now would have been the perfect time to find out about Eames' sexual orientation. The subject had been broached and Eames was fair-minded enough that Arthur could be virtually certain he would answer honestly....

But he choked. He just couldn't do it. If Eames _was_ straight, he'd just be offended that Arthur hadn't known, hadn't assumed, since that was the normal societal default. Open-minded or not, Arthur knew from past experience that straight guys got pissed when anyone didn't automatically _know_ they were straight.

And if he _wasn't_ straight.... Well, Arthur was having enough trouble reining in his libido where his gorgeous stepbrother was concerned. More fuel to _that_ fire was the last thing that he needed.

So in the end he let the opportunity slide away, and the conversation moved on to more innocuous subjects. Then they buckled down and did their homework. Because Arthur might have confessed to being bisexual and taken Eames completely by surprise in doing so, but life did, in fact, go on.

***

Really, Eames thought, he shouldn't have been so surprised. Not over the fact that Arthur was an all-rounder, and not over the fact that he had been crushing on _both_ Dom and Mal. Hell, if Eames had been at all inclined toward the fairer sex, he'd have been sporting a huge boner -- emotionally, not literally -- for the beautiful French girl.

Dom, on the other hand, was not his type in the slightest. Too much like Eames in some ways, and too far different in others. He could see where Arthur would be drawn to him; to his clean-cut, boyish good looks, his confidence... his heterosexuality. But the appeal just wasn't there for Eames. He had a lot of crosses to bear, but falling for straight boys had fortunately never been one of them.

Oh, he understood the reason for this common phenomenon. He was well versed in the desirability of forbidden fruits. After all, wasn't he in the process of falling for his own _stepbrother_?

Because Yusuf, damn his oily hide, had been right about that. Here this whole time Eames had been thinking that he only wanted to get into Arthur's well-cut trousers.... But after the party, as they began spending even _more_ time together, most of the awkwardness between them banished, Eames came to realize, to recognize that Yusuf had been correct, and it was far more than his dick that was engaged.

Dammit.

Just because Arthur was as much into boys as girls didn't mean that Eames had a chance with him. Not only was there the not inconsiderable fact that they were brothers -- by marriage, but still -- but there was the fact of Ariadne. Now that Arthur had declared he was over Dom and Mal, he was spending even more time with Ariadne than he had done before, and that had been plenty as it was.

In all fairness, the two usually included Eames in their activities. Even if it was just hanging about in someone's bedroom, shooting the shit.

But now that Arthur's broken heart was mending, Eames was pretty sure that Ariadne was the one that Arthur should give it over to. She was smart, witty, delightful, and even though he wasn't one for the ladies, he found her to be more than moderately attractive. A dark little Pocket Venus, as it were. Well, all right, she was honestly too slim for that appellation, but she _was_ tiny and exquisite, and Arthur could hardly do better.

And, of course, as far as Eames was concerned, Ariadne absolutely could not have done better than Arthur. No one could have done.

For some reason, Ariadne didn't seem to be willing to push the issue. In fact, she was usually the one who insisted that Eames join them whenever he tried to gracefully bow out. He couldn't tell if she was being deliberately obtuse, whether she had nefarious designs of some sort, or if she just thought that Eames would be lonely, but he was too much of a gentleman to turn her down.

Arthur, bless his heart, didn't seem to realize that he should be insisting that Eames stay away, leaving him free to spend time with Ariadne on his own. And Eames wasn't really in a position to force the issue.

And so this was where things stood for a while. And Eames might be frustrated, but... well, he was _happy_. This was the first time he'd been this close to the people he was hanging out with, the first time they had been such _good_ people -- Yusuf notwithstanding, because even though he was a good bloke as well, he and Eames hadn't known one another for very long before Eames had had to move to the States -- and while it was a little scary, it was comforting at the same time.

They ended up skipping the winter formal, all three of them. No one protested, aside from Dom and Mal, who had no real say in the matter. It was useful, sometimes, having parents who were completely oblivious and so often away.

So instead of dressing up like fools and wasting time with bad music, cheap punch, and shallow classmates, Eames, Arthur, and Ariadne hung out in Eames' room. Arthur made hot cider, Ariadne cooked them up something she called "stovetop s'mores", and Eames introduced them both to Yusuf via video chat. As he had suspected they would, Ariadne and Yusuf got on extremely well. Eames just hoped they wouldn't get _too_ close; if the two of them ganged up on him for any reason they could very easily make his life a living hell.

Eames had no doubt that Dom and Mal were having a grand old time, the beauties of the high school formal, but it was just not his thing. He hated wearing penguin suits, and he hated being forced to dance, or, even worse, standing on the sidelines and watching other people mucking about on the dance floor. His Mum's wedding had been one thing; this was another entirely.

And never mind that he actively disliked more than a few of his classmates. Aside from Dom and Mal, he was spending the evening with his only friends, the three people who were definitely his favourites in the world. Well, aside from his Mum, but while he loved her, he didn't always enjoy spending time with her. And she was family, not a friend; as a teenager, this was a vital distinction.

It wasn't that Eames hadn't tried to talk Ariadne into dragging Arthur to the formal. It might have been romantic, might have gotten them moving in the right direction. But she had informed him tartly that she was "allergic to overblown, antiquated, blatantly sexist customs" and so had no intention of attending.

In that moment, Eames had thought that if he'd been straight, or perhaps bisexual like Arthur, he could have fallen for her and would have gladly snapped her up from under Arthur's oblivious nose. But, honestly, the other gender held no real charms for him outside of a certain aesthetic appreciation and so Arthur's hypothetical claim over Ariadne was safe.

Not that Arthur was making a move. Because he wasn't.

Eames just didn't know how much more blatant he could be without physically pushing the two of them together.

***

Arthur knew that Ariadne was exasperated with him, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out _why_. She had forgiven him for getting drunk at Robert's party. She had actually come to accept that he was finally over both Dom and Mal. But there was something... something.... There was _something_ that she was holding against him, and he had no idea what it might be.

He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of outright asking, though. Because he had his pride, and he felt as though he ought to be able to figure it out for himself.

Whatever it _was_.

Well, maybe it _was_ the debacle at the Fischer place after all. Arthur felt as though he was still working on earning back Eames' trust and respect. No matter how many times Eames had told him it was okay, no matter that Eames obviously _did_ consider it behind them, all Arthur could think about was the darkness in those normally clear grey eyes, and the fact that he had, by his actions, put it there.

He wanted to ask Eames more about his father. He wanted to know what "far stupider things" Eames had done in the past. He wanted to know if the scar bisecting Eames' brow and the one under his chin came from his father or from his escapades. He wanted to ask about the tattoos; when and where Eames had gotten them, and what each one meant to him.

But he just didn't dare. He wasn't sure whether it would be okay. And he didn't want to lose the ground he was slowly gaining back.

Arthur was beginning to remember why he didn't like having close friends. All the little details and emotional entanglements, the possibility of completely screwing it up, the heartbreak if something did go wrong.... And yet, he thought about not seeing Eames and Ariadne every day, and _that_ was the real heartbreak. His life wouldn't have seemed complete without both of them. Dom and Mal he only spent time with on occasion, but he lived with Eames and saw Ariadne daily.

"No, he didn't!" Ariadne was currently scoffing at something Yusuf had said over chat. Arthur was a little surprised that the soft-spoken, polite young man was friends with Eames, but then, Eames evidently considered both Arthur and Ariadne to be friends. Just because he had admitted to being a bit of a delinquent in the past, that didn't mean he couldn't have polite, good-natured friends now. Arthur was tired of constantly underestimating Eames, but he did continue to do so. At least he didn't usually say anything too offensive aloud.

"I feel I may have inadvertently set my own doom into motion," Eames whispered to Arthur. The three of them were on the floor in Eames' room -- mainly because Ariadne had declared that she would never sit on a teenage boy's bed, at which point Eames had turned brick red and protested loudly that his bedclothes were _freshly laundered_ , thank you very much! -- with the laptop propped open on the floor between them all.

"Probably," Arthur replied solemnly, fighting the urge to grin.

Eames mock scowled at him. "You're absolutely no help."

"Will you two stop flirting," Ariadne demanded, shooting them both an amused look. "Yusuf has a serious question here."

Arthur glared at her, trying to ignore the way Eames flushed again, though he could see it out the corner of his eye. "That's not funny, Ariadne!" he protested, probably more vigorously than he should have. He was going to give too much away at this rate.

"Tallie gave Peter the clap last semester," Eames told Yusuf, scooting a little closer to Ariadne and leaning over so that the webcam picked up the larger part of his face. "Best to give her a miss, mate."

"What?" Ariadne gaped, as Yusuf chuckled.

"Cheers for looking out for my health and heart," Yusuf told Eames smoothly, his round face lighting in a broad smile. "But that wasn't the subject under discussion."

"Perhaps not, but I know it's been on your mind," Eames retorted. "She's no good for you. Trust me on that one." He tilted his head as Yusuf nodded thoughtfully. "So what's the real question then?"

And that was how they ended up spending almost an hour discussing what Yusuf should get his grandparents for Christmas. Arthur thought it was a little strange that it was so easy, so natural, becoming friends with someone they hadn't known before today. But then, Eames had been friends with Yusuf already, and they had become friends with Eames, so it really did make a fair amount of sense.

He'd never have thought so when he'd been sent to pick Eames up at the airport, but now he couldn't imagine his life without the other boy. Even if it did make him feel like a complete tool to put this feeling into words.

***

When Eames saw Arthur naked, it was completely accidental. Really, he had nothing whatsoever to do with it.

Well, he didn't manage to avert his eyes. But who would have had the willpower to do so in the presence of such glory?

Eames didn't feel he was being overly grandiloquent. Arthur's bared body really _was_ magnificent. As he had suspected, as he had expected, but as he had never thought he would be fortunate enough to have proven to him.

What happened was simple enough. Even though Eames didn't regularly sleep in -- not even on weekends and breaks -- Arthur always rose earlier. Eames had stopped trying, just accepted it as the way things were. Arthur constructed a better breakfast than Eames could have managed, anyway, he had to admit. And he'd taken to brewing Eames his tea just as he liked it, which would have won him a spot in Eames' affections forever if he hadn't already been so highly positioned there already.

The fact that they were on winter break did nothing to deter Arthur from his regular routine, and so he continued to rise before the sun. Eames wondered if that was when he did his exercises, and he wanted to suggest they do them together, perhaps spar a bit, but he'd yet to work up the courage for that. Even though he and Arthur lived together, even though they were fast on their way to becoming close friends, there were so many places in their lives that Eames still felt edgy about. He was more at home here, but it had been Arthur's home first and Eames was constantly anxious about overstepping his bounds.

Which was strange, because he'd never cared so much about anyone else's opinion before. But then, Eames had never really been in love with anyone before.

At least, according to Yusuf, Arthur was definitely the one Eames had been mooning after. He'd sent Eames an email to this effect shortly after they had ended their chat session, and Eames could have throttled him. He'd blasted off an immediate denial, in all caps, and probably missing out quite a few vital letters in his fervency, but he was sure he'd gotten his intent across. Yusuf hadn't backed down, though, and had told Eames on no uncertain terms that he was fooling himself if he wouldn't admit to his feelings.

Eames almost regretted the good advice he had given Yusuf regarding a certain pox-laden lass, but it was too late to take it back now. And, well, a man's bits were sacred; perhaps more so than his heart. A broken heart could be mended, after all, but venereal diseases might well be forever, depending upon the strain.

At any rate, on the morning in question Eames was bundled up in his bedding as usual, drowsing lazily, not yet ready to get up but unable to fall back asleep. His bed was opposite the door leading to the bathroom, and when the light came on, lancing into his eyes in a thin line directly across his face, he recognized that he'd failed to latch it closed after he'd gotten up in the middle of the night for a quick piss.

He squinted, ready to bury his face in the bedcovers, maybe pull the pillow over his head, when he realized that he could see into a sliver of the bathroom, the area right in front of the shower, and that Arthur, in his robe, was leaning into the stall, turning on the water and adjusting the temperature.

This was the point at which Eames' eyes flew wide open, even though his pupils hadn't quite adjusted to the light yet, because _holy fuck_!

This was also the moment where he knew he should look away... but damned if he could do so. To save his life, he couldn't have dragged his gaze off of that sliver of the bathroom and off of _Arthur_ in the bathroom. Fortunately for him his life was _not_ in the balance. And he planned on snapping his eyes closed right quick if Arthur happened to look over and notice the cracked door.

Arthur didn't, though. And once he was pleased with the temperature in the shower he shed his robe, proving that he was wearing nothing whatsoever underneath it.

How Eames' eyes didn't pop out of his skull and roll underneath the bed, he'd never know. Sheer force of will, the need to _see naked Arthur_ kept them in his head, he supposed. He wasn't even blinking.

Arthur was just as exquisite as Eames had thought he would be in nothing but his skin. Long and lean and pale all over. He had dustings of dark hair on his powerful legs and forearms, as well as beneath his navel, but was otherwise fairly smooth. His chest was more narrow and less developed than Eames, but there was definition to his pectorals and his stomach was clearly well muscled, hard and flat. He had round nipples that were more pink than brown, a tight little arse, and -- yes, Eames looked, how could he not? -- a truly impressive cock.

Oh, Eames had visualized it before, plenty of times. Arthur usually eschewed the baggy jeans favored by teen males for fitted trousers that should have looked ridiculous, but which instead suited him remarkably well. And those trousers left very little to the imagination; not that Eames hadn't imagined.... The reality, however, was far grander than his best fantasies could ever have been.

Arthur was blessed, that much was readily evident. He was also circumcised, which shouldn't have surprised Eames, seeing as Arthur was an American, even though it wasn't what he was used to. But even without the extra skin at the head of his cock, he was plenty big enough. And that was flaccid!

Eames wasn't ashamed of his immediate desire to put that lovely prick in his mouth. He wasn't slutty, but he knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was Arthur-- no, Arthur's cock, his _cock_!

....Oh, dammit, he might as well acknowledge that he was quite gone on his stepbrother, and that seeing Arthur like this only made Eames want him all the more, both physically and in other ways. To deny it would have been doing Arthur a disservice, and so Eames didn't even try, after the initial twitch of denial.

He only got to see the delicious strip of naked Arthur for a handful of heartbeats, before Arthur slid gracefully into the shower and out of his line of sight, but he felt as though the image had been imprinted on his consciousness for the rest of time. He would never forget that beautiful sight, and it was going to get him hard whenever he called it to mind.

Right now he was hard and getting harder. And seeing as he was bundled up in bed and Arthur was standing there naked and wet in the shower less than four meters from where Eames lay, there was only one thing to do. Since he couldn't unwrap himself and cross to join Arthur in the shower, Eames was going to have to settle for a nice healthy wank.

Oh, such a hardship.

He made a long arm, snagging his lotion from the drawer of the bedside table, where he had taken to keeping it after he had started inviting Arthur and Ariadne into his room. He was going to do it, no question, and so he might as well do it _right_. He'd have to rush a bit -- with the door cracked like this, he had to be done by the time Arthur was through showering -- but he wasn't going to short himself either.

He took a moment to press his thumbs to his own nipples, visualizing Arthur's perfect chest, wishing that he could touch, could see, could taste.... But he hardly needed the extra stimulation when he was already this turned on, and so he moved things along quickly, running his fingertips down his chest and stomach to his groin.

Eames tended to sleep naked, despite the fact that it was the middle of winter, which was most of the reason for the pile of duvets and fleece blankets on his bed. He got chilled easily and dreamt of someday moving to a warmer climate; perhaps Morocco, or Kenya. But all that aside, no pyjamas meant that there was nothing to impede him in the goal of wrapping his hand around his raging hard-on.

He hissed, thumbing at the head lightly, tugging at the foreskin. He closed his eyes and envisioned Arthur where he was right now, _in the shower_. Water streaming down that lean, wiry, entirely delightful figure, pale skin pinking with the flush of warmth, hair slicked back from his face, dark chocolate-brown eyes closed as he tilted his head back, baring the long line of his throat.... God!

Eames bit back a groan, wishing more than anything that he could slide into the shower stall with Arthur, imagining that he would be welcome there, pressed up against Arthur's wet, warm, naked body, holding him, wrapping himself around him, Arthur's arms around him in turn, their hard cocks pressed together between their bellies....

This wasn't the first time Eames had jerked off in bed while Arthur was in the shower, but it would be his first time doing so after having actually _seen_ Arthur without clothing, when he _knew_ what Arthur looked like nude, instead of merely using his imagination.

It shouldn't have made such a difference, but, oh it did. Seeing that lovely view imprinted on his eyelids as he slicked up his palm and set to a nice firm stroke up and down his shaft. Pretending that it was Arthur's erection in his hand, pretending that it was Arthur's hand on his own cock. It was sad and faintly pathetic, and yet the mere thought of it had him that much hotter, that much closer to coming.

Straining to hear the cascade of water on tile and flesh over the sound of his own heavy breathing, Eames gripped his cock more tightly, rubbed more briskly. His stomach muscles and his thighs were clenching, tension building in his groin and spreading throughout his body as he hastened toward climax. He didn't _want_ to rush this, would have liked to take his time, but with the bathroom door open, even a crack, he didn't dare to risk it. Later, when Arthur was through bathing and Eames was safely locked away in his bedroom, then he would be able to savor this.

Not that self stimulation was what he wanted. But since he couldn't have Arthur, that was what he had. And at least now he had even more masturbation fodder than he'd managed to stockpile before. Granted, he'd stripped Arthur to his boxers the night he had dragged his drunken arse home, but then he had been so blinded with rage and so sick with stress and concern that he hadn't been able to pay Arthur's mostly-bared body as much attention as it deserved.

This morning, thanks to whatever deity had decided to smile down upon him, Eames had gotten to see the whole package, at a time when he was most able to express his appreciation.

He would, of course, have preferred to express said appreciation by putting his hands all over _Arthur_ , touching that flawless flesh, sucking his magnificent cock until he came down Eames' throat. But, failing that, he could at least get a good quick wank in now and save some more for later. After all, he had seen Arthur naked now, and no one could take that sweet mental image away from him.

Using his free hand, Eames slipped a couple of lubricated fingers back into the crack of his arse, and then inside himself. He liked a bit of penetration when he was jacking off, actually quite liked taking a big cock in his arse, and the thought of Arthur's good sized prick driving all up in there had him clenching around his fingers, panting into his pillow.

Not that he had any idea whether Arthur preferred to top or bottom, whether he even _had_ any experience playing with boys, for all he was an admitted all-rounder. If he'd only ever pinned his hopes on Dom, then Eames was confident it had never happened.

But thinking about Dom was killing the mood, as was the idea of Arthur being with anyone other than Eames himself. Didn't matter Arthur would never _be_ with Eames; in his fantasies, he could have whatever he wanted. He could deepthroat Arthur's beautiful big cock. He could kiss him until their lips went numb, could suck on Arthur's tongue, could maybe get his own tongue in Arthur's perfect, tight little arse. He could fuck Arthur, Arthur could fuck him, and then they could do it all over again--

With a small, breathy little gasp Eames came all over his knuckles, stomach, and sheets. He hadn't quite realized he was so close to it, but now that it was here, washing over him, he rode the rush. He grunted, drawing in tight around his pulsing cock, as he worked through the last few spurts of come, the final shudders of release. The tension broke and he uncoiled, letting out a long sigh of relief.

He was struck with a random thought as he lay there, dazed and flushed all over with warmth and repletion; that if Ariadne had declined to sit on his bed _now_ he wouldn't have taken offense. Not that he intended to let her into his room again until after he had done laundry and aired it out a bit. He was a horny teenage boy, true, but he was a gentleman as well. And, besides, he'd never have lived it down if he did otherwise.

He lay there, still wrapped in his warm cocoon, breathing in the scent of his own sweat and spunk, his limbs loose and relaxed. His thoughts drifted once more to how beautiful Arthur had looked with all his flesh bared, and without quite realizing it, he was falling back to sleep. Before Arthur had even finished showering, no less.

***

Arthur both hated and loved using the shower in a bathroom he shared with Eames. And he hated it and he loved it for exactly the same reasons.

Because right now, there was one slim door that separated him from Eames, from Eames' room, from Eames' bed... which Eames was still _in_. Arthur was standing here, naked and wet, completely vulnerable but also completely empowered, stripped down to his own essence, no clothing to hide him, no pretenses. And yet, there was that door, keeping him separate from Eames. As it should be.

Another thing, maybe even more vital, was the fact that Arthur was standing in the exact same shower stall that Eames used to bathe. He could reach out and touch the wall that Eames had touched, that he had maybe leaned against while he was as naked and open as Arthur was, maybe propped himself against while he was touched himself....

Arthur had no idea whether Eames jerked off in the shower the same as he did, but it would have seemed a waste not to do so. When they were already nude, where there was privacy and plenty of noise to cover any sounds they might make, where there was free-flowing water to wash away all traces of come and sweat.

Arthur bit back a small moan, reaching out and palming the wall for a moment instead of touching his own body the way he wanted to -- the way he wanted to touch _Eames' body_. He really had no idea whether or not it really was "they", whether Eames ever masturbated in the shower, but he was going to believe that he did, and he was going to visualize it. Nothing could have stopped him, and he didn't really _want_ to stop.

Eames, with water sluicing over his hard muscles, trickling over his tattoos, darkening his hair; both on his head and the sprinklings on his chest and belly... and lower. It was true that Arthur had only ever seen Eames stripped down to his boxer briefs, but he had a vivid imagination, despite Eames declarations to the contrary. Then again, Arthur wouldn't have wanted Eames to know what exactly he was imagining, here in the shower.

He'd already washed his hair and scrubbed his body. Now it was time to get out of the stall, dry off, get dressed, go and make coffee for himself, tea for Eames, and breakfast for them both... and yet here he stood. Eyeing the tiled wall before him as though it might leap out and attack him. Really, though, it was his own conscience he was struggling with.

He shouldn't take the time to jerk off. He shouldn't masturbate with Eames just one slim door away from him. And yet he was already hard.... Retreating to his cold bed, then having to spend the morning covered in dried sweat underneath his clothing even though he'd _just_ bathed seemed both undesirable and more than a little stupid. Here, he was private and safe, surrounded by water, steam, and warmth, and it was only his sense of propriety keeping him from indulging.

Well, if there was one thing hanging around with Eames had been teaching Arthur, it was when to ignore propriety and do what he wanted.

With a little huff of irritation -- at his dick as much as himself -- Arthur gave in and leaned against the wall. The tiles were heated from the water, and the spray was even warmer as it spilled over his shoulders and back, but when Arthur pressed his face to the wall, the tiles actually seemed cool under his flushed cheek. He turned, back propped against the wall now, legs braced, the spray from the shower head striking his chest, hot water trickling down his belly and thighs.

He shivered, just pausing a moment to savor the wet warmth running over his balls and down his legs. It wasn't like the caress of a mouth or hands; still, it was something that was not his own touch and as such it was worthy of some appreciation.

But his dick was standing up hard and demanding, and his reached down almost without thinking, wrapping his hand around the shaft and holding on tightly. His breath hissed as pleasure darted over the entire surface of his body. The water from the shower head was sufficient lubrication at first as he began stroking it, but before he began working it more vigorously, he reached for the bottle of conditioner and got his fingers good and slick. Then he was able to both squeeze more tightly and move his hand faster.

He worked his hard-on without mercy. The house had a large water heater, it was true, but the hot water wasn't going to last indefinitely, and he had already been in here for almost half an hour. He didn't want Eames to suspect what he was doing. Granted, he didn't know if Eames was even awake, but if he was, a long shower taken by a sixteen year old male was absolutely a dead giveaway. And just because Arthur _was_ jerking off in here, that didn't mean he wanted Eames to _know_.

His throbbing dick and his drawn up balls weren't going to last for long anyway. Arthur bit his lower lip sharply to hold back a low, guttural sound as he worked his fist over his hot, swollen shaft, sweeping over the head, hurrying himself toward the inevitable conclusion.

He could feel it, tensing the muscles of his legs, tingling in his dick and balls, the pressure building through his entire body. His first climax of the day was always intense, whether he even made it out of bed before indulging, or whether he jerked off in the shower. He didn't remember masturbating this often before Eames had moved in, before his powerful muscles and those amazing lips began to feature heavily in Arthur's dreams and fantasies... but Arthur _was_ sixteen, so this was only natural, right?

His breath caught in his chest, and he jammed the knuckles of his free hand into his mouth to stifle any louder sounds of pleasure as his orgasm smashed into and through him like a roaring freight train. His dick jumped in his hand, painting stripes of pearly come on the opposite wall of the shower stall, making a mess that stood out clearly on the dark teal of the tiles.

Arthur watched his come run down the wall from under heavy lids, unable to force his brain to function enough to even recognize what he was seeing for long moments. His heart was racing and his breath was coming fast. He continued to run his hand up and down his dick as it slowly softened, though with a far lighter touch now, coaxing it though its last shudders, continuing past the point that it became slightly painful just because it was so much more pleasurable at the same time.

Before too long, though, he had recovered enough to move and so he felt compelled to do so. He rinsed off his hand and his dick, used his washcloth to wipe the wall clean, then shut off the water and emerged from the shower stall.

He dried off dreamily and was just getting dressed, his movements more languorous than his usual efficiency, when he suddenly noticed that the bathroom room leading into Eames' room was ever so slightly open.

His stomach plunging, a sick chill rushing over the surface of his skin, he crept over on bare feet. Once he was close enough, though, he was able to hear the heavy breathing that Eames insisted was _not_ snoring -- which Arthur was familiar with from the times that Eames had fallen asleep on the sofa in days past -- and his pounding heartbeat settled, his sudden anxiety melting away.

Eames had slept through it all, thank God. Arthur was going to have to remember to check the door from now on, though. Because that was nothing but a disaster waiting to happen.

Picking up his discarded robe and checking to make sure that there was no incriminating traces of _anything_ left in the shower, Arthur then headed for the kitchen to brew coffee and tea, and make them both breakfast.

Just another morning, as had become normal. It was completely different than it had been before Eames had come into his life, but Arthur thought that he liked this new normal.

No, he _knew_ that he liked it. Wouldn't have had things any other way.

***

December was a busy time for Oscar, and so he and Mum were gone more often than they were home. Eames had mixed feelings about that, but mostly he was glad that he didn't have to deal with his mother the way she was around the Christmas season. Ever since they'd been freed of his father's oppressive presence -- and the near constant poverty that the man's addiction had driven them into -- Mum had gone a bit barmy over the holidays, especially this one. A tree with gaudy ornaments, garlands of holly, ivy, and mistletoe everywhere, holiday crackers, roast goose and Christmas pudding on the day of.... And she even made Eames _sing_.

Eames had grown up without most of this claptrap, had never had the luxury of believing in Father Christmas, and so it all held very little charm for him. The fact that his Mum was so fervent about it, as though she was somehow trying to make up for the first twelve years of his life, only made him _less_ likely to enjoy the trappings. But he had to put on a good show so that she wasn't even more miserable and guilt-ridden than she tended to be.

Which was why the fact of being home alone with Arthur, as awkward as it could be, was actually far preferable to having their parents home. At least it was until the morning that Arthur set Eames' breakfast down in front of him and declared, "Dad says we should go out and get a tree. Ariadne's going to let us use her truck."

Eames didn't try to hide his groan, gaining himself a curious blink from Arthur, but he made no further protest. He hadn't _really_ thought that the simple fact of his Mum not being here would be enough to keep her from getting them ready for Christmas.

"I suppose I should start thinking about buying gifts, then," he mused, digging into the delicious eggnog french toast that Arthur had made. He would have assumed that Arthur was already done with all his shopping, as precise and organized as he tended to be, but then he saw the look on Arthur's face, his lips round, his eyes rounder. _Deer in headlights,_ Eames believed American's called this particular expression.

A wide grin curved his lips, and he gave Arthur an arch look. "Don't tell me--"

"Shut up," Arthur interrupted, his expression shifting from stunned to panicked. "Shit! How many days do we have left?"

Eames glanced at the calendar Oscar kept on the pantry door, counting quickly. "Almost a week. No need to fret."

"But what if I need to order something?" Arthur half rose than flopped back down. "Shit. Do you have any idea what I can get for Ariadne?"

Eames shook his head. "Oh, no, no, no. If I think of anything for little Ariadne, _I'm_ getting it for her. I'm afraid that you're on your own, darling."

"You're heartless," Arthur accused, but without any real heat in his voice.

"No, you're the one who's heartless," Eames shot back. "Making me go out in that horrid weather to get a tree. I'm certain I shall catch a dreadful chill by the time all's said and done."

"No one's making you go," Arthur informed him tartly, picking up his fork again.

As though Eames was enough of a bounder that he would to leave it to Arthur to go get the tree on his own. Eames shook his head and finished his breakfast. He was going to need all the fortifying he could get.

And sweaters. Lots of sweaters.

***

Arthur paid for the tree using the credit card his father had given him for things like this, making sure to get one that was moderately priced but not too chintzy or small. In fact, it took both he and Eames working together to get it into Ariadne's truck, and from the truck bed into their home. Arthur was very glad that Eames hadn't forced him to do this on his own.

Eames bought some garlands with his own pocket money, holly and ivy, and he insisted that they also pick up a wreath. Arthur was a little confused, since it hadn't seemed to him that Eames cared much about Christmas decorations, but then he'd said quietly, "It's for Mum," and Arthur understood. He was pretty sure that this was why Dad had called and instructed him to get them a tree. Normally they only bothered when his father was home so that they could go and get one together; something that happened less than half the time. But Arthur figured a lot of things were going to be different now that his Dad was married to Gloria.

He didn't mind, honestly, and Ariadne seemed delighted that they were bothering with a tree this year. He wasn't sure why it mattered to her, but it was nice to see her so happy.

Eames put up the garlands while Arthur dressed the tree, and Ariadne made cookies in their kitchen. Arthur liked to bake when it was something worth the effort, like cake or a pie, but he didn't usually bother with cookies. He enjoyed the ones that Ariadne made, though. Gingerbread men, spritz cookies, and snickerdoodles. Really, though, half the fun the latter was getting to see the look on Eames' face the first time Ariadne told him what they were.

"You're having me on," he protested, narrowing his eyes at Ariadne. His nose was still red, even though they'd been home a good hour, and his right cheek had gotten prickled by the fir needles while they'd been carting the tree in. Arthur thought that he looked adorable, though, in a thick heather sweater and a bright scarf, his hair still mussed from when he'd taken off his knit cap. His eyes were bright and he seemed more pleased by the cookies than the decorations. Which made sense to Arthur, because the cookies could at least be eaten.

"No, that's what they're called," Ariadne defended. "Arthur, back me up on this."

Arthur grinned as Eames turned to him. "She's telling the truth," he confirmed. "I can go and look it up on the internet for you."

Eames smiled back at him, and he really was ridiculously good looking. "That's all right, Arthur. I trust you."

"Hey!" Ariadne yelped, scowling and punching Eames in the upper arm. "You're implying that you don't trust me? I'm offended!"

Eames chuckled and swept Ariadne up in a bear hug, assuring her that he hadn't mistrusted her for a moment, and Arthur felt his good mood dim a little.

He knew he shouldn't be jealous of the way Eames touched Ariadne so easily. A hand on her shoulder, a pat to her upper back, the occasional embrace.... None of it was overtly sexual, and it might not mean anything. Even though Eames never touched Arthur like that....

But, seriously, Arthur had no claim over Eames. If he was interested in Ariadne, it was none of Arthur's business, and he could not and should not get in the way.

That was what he told himself, and most of the time he was able to force himself to believe it.

"You guys did a great job," Ariadne announced, walking into the den and looking around approvingly. They hadn't bothered with the rest of the house, aside from the wreath on the front door, but the den looked festive. Arthur had strung their fir with lights and tinsel after Eames had helped him place it in the tree stand, and then set the ornaments at aesthetically pleasing intervals along the branches. Eames had been a little more haphazard, hanging the garlands along the walls where they met the ceiling and around the windows and above the doors, but it looked good.

"There's something missing, though," Ariadne mused, pacing into the room and looking around.

"Gifts under the tree?" Eames ventured.

"A fireplace?" Arthur asked. "There's one in the living room, but we only use that when we have guests over. Dad and I always put the tree in here."

"No." Ariadne was shaking her head. "No, what's missing is... mistletoe!" She pointed imperiously at the top of the doorframe.

"No!" Arthur choked out at the same time Eames burst, "Absolutely not!"

Ariadne glanced back and forth between the two of them, her eyes widening, then narrowing. Arthur very carefully did not look at Eames, aware that he was blushing.

"All right, whatever," Ariadne said, shaking her head, and Arthur could have kissed her even without the mistletoe for being willing to drop a subject that could only have gotten more awkward. "Who wants to help me frost the gingerbread men?"

"I'll pass," Eames replied, giving them both a small grin. "Not my thing, you see. You two go right ahead, though"

"Hmph." Ariadne's eyebrows lowered dangerously. "All right, let me rephrase that." She swooped forward and grabbed Eames' by the arm, tugging him in the direction of the kitchen. "You are both _going_ to come and help me frost gingerbread men."

After taking one look at the determined expression on her face, Arthur wasn't about to argue. Both he and Eames followed her meekly. Arthur didn't know about Eames, but he actually had a far better time with this task than he expected.

And from the laughter echoing in the kitchen before they were done, Arthur thought that all three of them had fun.

***

Eames had been _joking_ when he had feared coming down with a chill while they had been out getting the tree, so it was probably only natural that he woke up the next morning with a scratchy throat and runny nose. Symptoms that only got worse as the day progressed, to the point that by afternoon he was curled in bed, a small ball of misery huddled under every spare blanket and duvet in the house.

Arthur kept checking on him, making sure he had tissues and cold medicines, bringing him herbal tea and chicken soup, wiping his brow with a cool washcloth when he was feverish. It was disconcerting and comforting in equal parts. Eames had never had anyone take care of him like this when he'd been ill in the past. Not even his Mum, though she'd always tried her best.

"You gotta stay outta here," he croaked when Arthur brought him in some unscented lotion for his nose and upper lip, where the skin was getting raw and red from all his repeated nose-blowing. He wasn't about to tell Arthur he had some lotion in his drawer -- not to mention he would never use _that_ lotion on his _face_. "You're gonna get sick too."

Arthur shrugged, setting the lotion on the bedside table next to Eames' empty tea mug and the bottle of Nyquil. "I've got a strong constitution. And if I haven't already caught it, I'm unlikely to get it now."

Eames thought that this was specious reasoning at best, but his drug and virus addled brain failed to provide him the correct words to form a convincing argument, so he just sniffled, grabbed another tissue, and gave Arthur a weak smile. "Thank you," he said, well aware that he sounded pitiful. He couldn't help it, though. He _felt_ pitiful.

He thought that Arthur was saying something in reply, but the cold medicine was some strong stuff, and he was drifting away. He thought that he must have imagined the fingers carding through his hair as he slipped over the edge and into the realm of slumber.

Because he couldn't but have imagined it.

***

Eames shouldn't have looked so appealing when he was sick, Arthur thought. Really. He was pasty and sweaty, with dark circles around his eyes, his hair lying lank across his forehead, his nose red and irritated.

And yet there was something about him, something compelling, that made Arthur want to take care of him. Fortunately Eames was out of it enough that he would allow Arthur to do this, because he really was in a bad way.

While Eames slept, Arthur sat beside him on the bed, rubbing his back and listening to him breathing through his mouth. It made him wish that he could do this some time when Eames wasn't full of snot, some time when he didn't smell like cold sick-sweat. Some time when he was conscious of the careful caresses.

It was just a waste of time, wishing for things like that, Arthur thought. Things that he couldn't have. Things that he would never have.

Oh, he and Eames were well on their way to being good friends. They might even someday consider one another to be brothers, though Arthur was less certain of that. But Eames was far more likely to cuddle in bed with Ariadne than Arthur. And that was as it should be. Arthur was a little surprised that Eames hadn't asked Ariadne out on a date, but maybe it was harder during winter break, when it was just them and Arthur. Or maybe he was waiting until _he_ could drive them or something. Arthur didn't really understand how Eames' brain worked; every time he thought he had him figured out, Eames would turn around and surprise him.

Ariadne stopped by in the afternoon, but once she heard that Eames was sick, she quickly bailed. Arthur couldn't blame her. She was going to be flying to Canada to celebrate Christmas with her extended family, and one of the only things worse than being sick was having to fly while sick.

Arthur noticed, once she was gone, that she'd somehow in the five minutes she had been there managed to pin a sprig of plastic mistletoe as high as she could reach on the door frame between the den and the kitchen. Rolling his eyes, he fetched a chair and moved it up to the top of the frame.

Now, he just had to be careful not to get caught underneath it by Gloria once she got home. Or by Eames.

The mere thought of kissing Eames had Arthur flushing, his dick swelling, but he had to push that image right out of his head. Not because it wasn't incredibly compelling, but because it was never ever going to happen.

He consoled himself once this realization crossed his mind by going into Eames' bedroom, and, once the other boy proved to be sound asleep, dead to the world, pressing a very soft, very light kiss to his temple. It wasn't much, but it was all that Arthur would allow himself, and doing it at all was creepy enough.

Arthur knew that if he had been awake, Eames never would have stood for that. Which was why he had to take what he could get now, while Eames was completely out of it.

He sighed, settling down to sit beside Eames and running his fingers through his hair again. Here, he had finally stopped pining over Dom and Mal, and now he was behaving in an even more pathetic manner, had developed an even more impossible crush.

Why did he suck so hard?

Eames grunted, gasped slightly as he tried to catch his breath, his lashes fluttering on his cheeks, head shifting on the pillow, and Arthur should have pulled his hand away, but instead he found himself stroking Eames' hair more firmly, fingers tracing over the smooth curve of his skull. There were hectic patches of color high on Eames' cheekbones and Arthur could hear his breath wheezing in his chest. He just wanted to make Eames feel better.

That wasn't so bad, was it?

***

With Arthur's dedicated mother-henning Eames got over his cold fairly quickly. Which was a good thing, seeing as he still needed to get out Christmas shopping. Since he didn't drive and Arthur wasn't about to let him walk in the cold, he had to get a ride from Arthur to search out a gift for Ariadne, and then beg a ride from Ariadne to go find something for Arthur.

"This is so sad," he bemoaned, as he and Ariadne hastened from her truck into the warmth and shelter of the shopping mall.

"What? Waiting to the last minute to shop?" Ariadne asked. She threaded her hand through his arm, pressing close and smiling up at him. He let her. She was sweet and each of them knew that the other wasn't interested. He supposed to those who did not know better they might look like a handsome couple, but there was nothing that could be further from the truth.

"No, not that," he protested. "It's still three days until Christmas Eve; this is _not_ last minute."

She rolled her eyes, but grinned all the more widely. As she had informed both Arthur and Eames archly, she had completed her Christmas shopping weeks ago.

"I meant having to borrow rides about," Eames continued, sighing heavily. "I feel like a burden."

"You're not," Ariadne protested immediately, squeezing his arm. "I don't mind. I'm thinking of picking up a couple more small gifts myself, and I absolutely don't mind driving you."

Eames gave up arguing, because Ariadne always won, but he still felt pretty pathetic.

"You're leaving tomorrow, yes?"

She grimaced and nodded. "Yeah. It's going to be so much fun."

Eames had to chuckle at the heavy tone of sarcasm in her voice. "Remind me to give you your gift before you go, then," he said, giving her hand a little squeeze. He'd bought it just the day before, when he'd gotten Arthur to drive him to the art supply shop. He hoped that she would like the sketch book and sable brush set he had gotten her; he felt as though his choice had been somewhat impersonal, but he knew that she would get use out of them, and Arthur had been absolutely rubbish at helping him pick something out.

He had no idea what Arthur had gotten her. He'd suggested jewelry and stuffed animals, but Arthur had given him a strange look and asked when Eames had seen Ariadne wearing any jewelry other than small stud earrings and her watch. Eames had had to give him that one.

Eames couldn't figure out what Arthur thought he was doing where Ariadne was concerned. He was just completely confounded. In fact, he was about ready to wash his hands of the two of them entirely. Playing matchmaker had never suited him; most especially not when he was in love with one of the two people in question.

"Now, you must help me choose something for darling Arthur," he told Ariadne.

He was half expecting her to drag her heels, the way that Arthur had when it had come time to help him pick out a gift for her, but instead her eyes lighted up and her grin, if anything, grew wider.

"I know just the thing!" she declared, dragging him more deeply into the heart of the mall.

Eames wondered if he should be fearful, but it was far too late for that.

***

Gifts had been purchased, wrapped with care, and were piled underneath the tree. Ariadne had left them several batches of cookies, each type piled on its individual plate. The house was warm and smelled of pine, cinnamon, and vanilla, while outside it was brisk and clear.

Of course, things were going too smoothly to last. The day before Christmas Eve, Dad and Gloria returned home, almost immediately instructing both Arthur and Eames to go and pack.

"We're going to be spending the holiday with your grandparents," Dad informed Arthur, an arm slung around Gloria, who looked equal parts delighted and terrified by this fact.

Arthur tried and failed to contain a groan. "Aw, Dad, do we have to?" he couldn't help whining, even though he knew it was unbecoming and immature. "Can't we just stay here, the four of us?"

Eames gave an experimental sniff, as though he was hoping he could play the _still too sick to go_ card, but his nose was unobligingly clear.

Dad frowned at Arthur. "What's wrong with going to your grandparents'?"

Too much to put into words, Arthur thought despairingly. But he wasn't going to get away with too many complaints about his father's own parents, so he didn't even try.

He exchanged a miserable glance with Eames, and then they both trudged off to pack. Because as much as he didn't want to go, Arthur knew that there was no way he was getting out of this.

It was Christmas, which meant time spent with family. Whether he wanted to or not.


	4. Chapter 4

Where Are You Going With My Heart: Chapter Four  
by kyrene

Eames was supremely ill at ease, going to Oscar's parents' place for Christmas, and it was small comfort knowing that Arthur was just as unhappy with this development as he was.

He wondered _why_ Arthur hadn't wanted to go. Obviously, Eames was less than thrilled to be spending the holidays with complete strangers, but it was important to his Mum, and he could hardly bow out. If only he'd gotten sick just a few days later.... But he hadn't and it was no good wishing for impossible things.

"So, why don't you want to go to your grandparents'?" he leaned over to whisper in Arthur's ear, where they were sitting together in the back seat, riding toward the state line.

Arthur sighed. "It's just... _family_ ," he said, almost as though the word were a swear. He glanced at Eames, his expression softening as he took note of the frown Eames couldn't keep off his face. "Don't worry. They're not crazy conservatives or, or alcoholics or anything." He winced as he spoke the "a" word, but Eames was relieved to hear it, because one never knew. "They're just... family."

Eames grinned a little, shaking his head. His Mum's parents and siblings had pretty much cut all ties when Eames had been too young to know better, so he didn't really have much experience with extended family, but he could imagine. He'd dealt with close family and he'd dealt with near strangers; combining the two would have to be that much more dreadful and awkward.

"Really, don't worry," Arthur was assuring him, and now he looked as though he was concerned that he'd really freaked Eames out with his own reluctance. His fingers twitched as if he wanted to grab Eames' by the hand, and Eames bit back a smile, because as much as it constantly surprised him, it was really lovely to know that Arthur cared. About him. About his well being. "They're probably going to love you and your mother. It's me they're going to pick at. They always do."

"What is there to pick at?" Eames asked fiercely, ready to get defensive on Arthur's behalf. "You get amazing grades, you already have a list of colleges you're going to try for in two years, you don't get into trouble, you're healthy, intelligent, well-read, organized, and you have some very good friends, one of whom is an awesome stepbrother if I may say so."

He gave Arthur a grin caught somewhere between smug and sheepish, but he really was curious as to what Arthur's family might have to find fault with.

Arthur sighed, but he was smiling back at Eames and Eames could see that his cheeks were pinked, probably with a combination of pleasure and embarrassment over the barrage of compliments Eames had just given him. "Mostly it's _why haven't you got a girlfriend, Arthur?_ " he mumbled, his delicious lips quirking at the corner. God, what Eames wouldn't give for the opportunity to kiss him. "Or, _Have you been seeing anyone?_ " He shook his head. "So far it's been bearable because they gave Dad as much shit as they gave me. But now he's _married_ , and so I'm going to get the brunt of it."

"Oh." Eames blinked. "Well, if that's all...."

"Isn't that enough?" Arthur hissed. They were still keeping their voices down, even though Oscar had the radio on, and he and Mum were conversing quietly in the front seat. "It's like they think everyone has to be paired off in order to be happy! And I couldn't exactly tell them that _both_ the people I was interested in were _together_."

Eames frowned, not liking the reminder, even though he was pretty sure that Arthur was telling the truth when he said that he was over both Dom and Mal. The fact that he was speaking in past tense seemed to support this, as well as his offhand tone. "So just tell them you're only sixteen."

Arthur laughed incredulously, and Eames' heart jumped at the sound even if it was more than a little bitter. He just loved seeing those deep dimples appear in Arthur's cheeks, adored the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, honestly _smiled_. "Eames," Arthur said with exaggerated patience, still grinning, "They've been nagging me about that since I was barely _fourteen_. My great grandmother was married and pregnant by the time she was sixteen, and my grandmother was seventeen. All of my aunts and uncles are married, and every pubescent cousin is in a relationship or at least seeing someone. That's not going to work."

"Ah." Eames didn't really have anything to say to that.

"Are you boys warm enough back there?" Oscar called over his shoulder, peering at them in the rearview mirror.

Eames straightened from where he had been leaning dangerously deep into Arthur's personal space.

"Yes, I'm fine," he hastened to assure. He was wearing a heavy woolen sweater and his thickest trousers. He also had a scarf looped around his neck, ready to pull up over his nose if need be. Arthur, of course, was wearing his normal slacks and button-up shirt, and had removed his jacket once they'd gotten into the car and it had warmed up. But Arthur had a much higher body temperature than Eames did, which Eames thought was supremely unfair, since Arthur had less body mass than he had.

That never stopped him from wanting to curl up next to Arthur and soak it in, of course.

"We're okay, Dad," Arthur assured Oscar, huffing and sinking back into his side of the bench seat. Eames wanted nothing more than to push in even closer to him, but he didn't dare. Teenage boys who were stepbrothers, not boyfriends, did not do things like cuddle with each other in the back of the car.

It was a shame they couldn't, though, because Eames would have dearly loved to leech some of Arthur's body heat from him. As well as sliding his hand into the gap between his shirt buttons, fingers spread over his chest, their thighs pressed together....

Eames swallowed thickly. God _damn_ his hormones and his ever-growing infatuation with Arthur. Between the two of these he felt that he was going to be a hopeless wreck _forever_.

He hauled out his mobile, texting Ariadne and letting her know what was going on. Anything to distract him, to take his mind off of how sexy and sexually appealing Arthur was, how there were only a handful of centimeters between them....

After a moment he got a reply.

_[3:12pm Ha-ha, sucks to be you.]_

He scowled.

_[1:13pm So supportive you are. How's your visit with fam going?]_

_[3:13pm Shut it.]_

"What are you grinning at?" Arthur asked, squinting at him as suspiciously as Dom ever had done.

Eames handed over his mobile wordlessly, his lips stretched in an amused smirk. Arthur read what was on the screen and then grinned. Eames tried to tamp down his urge to trace the lines of Arthur's dimples with the tip of his tongue.

Yes, because _that_ was certainly a normal response.

Arthur gave Eames back his mobile, then hauled out his own and fired something off to Ariadne. The two of them spent the next two hours, almost the entirety of the journey, texting back and forth with Ariadne in Canada and sharing these texts with one another.

It wasn't a half brilliant way to pass the time, Eames thought, even though it failed to banish all of his lingering anxiety.

Even better, though, was the way that Arthur leaned into him so that they could more easily read one another's screens, their shoulders pressed firmly together, their heads close. So Eames did get to steal a little of Arthur's body heat after all, got to breathe in the distinctive scent of Arthur. The clean smell of his skin and the faintest tang of fresh salt-sweat under a lingering whiff of his body wash and shampoo. Eames was grateful that his sweater was thick enough and hung low enough over his crotch to hide the slight swelling there. Arthur was warm and solid and breathing and he smelled supremely edible. He was _right there_ and he was so delighted by their interactions with Ariadne over their mobiles that he never seemed to stop smiling.

All of this only roused Eames' libido even more, but it was a delicious sort of torture, he had to admit.

***

"Arthur!" Grandmother gushed, grabbing him and pulling him into a tight hug. Arthur sometimes wondered where his father had come from; the rest of Dad's family was just as touchy-feely as Gloria at her worst. Not that he minded the way his father was; that was how he was as well, and it was what he was used to.

"Hey, Gram," he greeted, trying not to go completely stiff as he hugged her back. She wasn't as small as Gloria, but she always seemed brittle to him and Arthur was afraid to squeeze too tightly. He felt as though he might break her or something.

"And you must be Eames," Aunt Judith cooed, folding the other teenage boy into her arms. She had missed seeing him at the wedding, though most of the rest of the family had been introduced to him at that point, and she was making up that lack now.

Arthur could see Eames' eyes open comically wide at this unexpected embrace, and he couldn't help grinning a little. Aunt Judith looked a lot like Dad, in form as well as face, and Arthur could all too easily imagine that it might be alarming to be unexpectedly hugged by her.

Eames mouthed something at Arthur. He thought it was along the line of _why didn't you warn me?_ but, honestly, he was too captivated by the movement of Eames' lush lips to pay attention to the actual words.

Jesus _fuck_ , lusting after Eames' mouth while he was _hugging his grandmother_ ; this had to be a new all-time low, Arthur thought, trying to bite back a grimace.

There were various cousins milling about, some older than Arthur, some younger, all of them more noisy and far more excited about Christmas than Arthur was, all of them ignoring the new arrivals completely. Arthur was just as glad. He didn't have anything against any of them, but they weren't people he would have _chosen_ to hang out with if given the choice. Ties of blood were all that bound them, and he really wished that he was at home, having a quiet Christmas with just Eames and their parents.

Still, what was done was done. They were here now, and he would have to make the best of it. Sulking wouldn't help; it would only hurt Gloria's feelings and piss Dad off at him.

"We've put you two boys in the basement bedroom," his grandmother was saying as Aunt Judith swept Gloria up and dragged her into the kitchen and his father set off up the stairs with his and Gloria's luggage.

"Really?" Arthur scowled, and Eames gave him a wide-eyed look. It was a little funny and a lot sad, how trepidatious he looked. Arthur remembered how confident and steady Eames had been during his first day at school... but, evidently, family was different. Well, Arthur could understand that, and he definitely sympathized.

"Sorry, Arthur," Gram was saying, patting his shoulder and smiling at him. "But you got here late. And unless you want to share a room with Ernie--"

"No, thank you!" Arthur interrupted. Last time he'd tried sharing a room with that particular cousin, he'd been "gassed" out and had ended up sleeping on the sofa. Which hadn't made his aunts and uncles very happy when they'd tried to sneak down to put gifts underneath the tree in the middle of the night.

At least none of his cousins were still young enough to believe in Santa Claus anymore, Arthur thought as he and Eames collected their bags and started down the shag-carpet lined stairway. There was one great grandchild, courtesy of Dad's oldest brother's daughter, but she wasn't even a year old yet. So all of the presents were already under the tree. This was undoubtedly going to save everyone a lot of midnight sneaking around, and was probably a relief to every parent underneath the roof. Arthur knew _he_ wasn't going to miss the Santa myth. He hadn't believed in Santa since shortly after his mother had died. Most of his cousins had been at least a few years older than he had been, but he'd always been more advanced than they were... well, in every way other than romantically, he thought a little sourly.

"And here I thought that _your_ house was huge," Eames said in a wondering voice as he followed Arthur down the stairs into the basement.

" _Our_ house," Arthur corrected, scowling over his shoulder.

Eames flashed him a slightly shamefaced grin. "Yeah, that." He shivered as the reached the base of the stairs and Arthur fumbled for the light switch. "What's down here?"

"No central heating, that's for sure," Arthur groused, flipping on the light. There was a long, straight hallway ahead of them, with stark white walls and a cement floor. He headed down it. "That's the laundry room," he said, waving a hand at one door, then another. "And a half-bath next to it. So we sort of have our own bathroom, but there's no shower or tub." He pointed at the door on the other side of the hall. "Then there's the root cellar."

Eames whistled low. "Sounds impressive."

"It's really just an extra pantry," Arthur demurred. "Where they keep the canned foods and other non-perishables. This is where Grandpa is building his model railroad." He pointed at another closed door. "We're not allowed in, it's locked, but if he likes you he might invite you to look at it. I've seen it several times while I was growing up, because he trusts me to look and not touch. There's the wine cellar, which is nowhere near as fancy as it sounds, trust me. And here's our room."

It was at the very end of the hall, an enclosed little space that had never been meant for human habitation. Arthur pulled a face as he entered and turned on the light, looking around. It just was as shabby as he remembered.

The floor was carpeted, but it was only a thin layer of green fuzz over cement. The walls were an uneven cream color and there were no windows, which only made sense seeing as the room was below ground level. And, a fact that Arthur had been resolutely trying to ignore, there was _only one bed_. It was queen size, and he didn't know how in the hell he was going to share that with Eames for two whole nights.

"Have we been banished for some reason?" Eames asked, setting down his bag and sticking his hands under his armpits. His nose was red, and Arthur made a mental note to ask Gran for the space heater. He and Eames were both old enough to be trusted with it, and Eames had only recently gotten over a bad cold. "I feel as though we've been banished."

"No, no," Arthur assured him, even it did sort of seem that way. "It's actually better that we're down here. Otherwise we'd be stuck sleeping on the floor in our parents' room, or sharing with the younger cousins. And neither of those options is any good, trust me."

Eames was nodding, his expression rueful. "At least it's quiet down here," he said, nipping at his lower lip and eyeing the bed sidelong. "If you get me a sleeping bag, I can take the floor."

"You will not!" Arthur protested immediately. "It's practically bare cement; the carpet is just there for show. Not to mention, you're still getting over being sick!"

Eames shot him a quick, guarded glance, then averted his eyes. "Okay," was all he said, with a little shrug.

Arthur gave brief consideration to unpacking, putting his clothes in the beat-up antique dresser against the far wall, but he knew better. "Come on," he said, heading back toward the door. "We have to get back upstairs before Gram sends one of the kids down for us. We might be able to escape later, but right now we've got to go make nice. I still haven't said hi to Grandpa, and there's a whole lot of aunts and uncles who are going to want to meet you, if they didn't at the wedding."

Eames pulled a face, but followed Arthur obediently enough as he headed back along the hall and up the stairs.

Arthur would still rather have been at home -- _his_ home, with Eames, and with Dad and Gloria -- but at least things had gone fairly smoothly so far. Of course, they'd only just arrived and it wasn't even Christmas Eve until tomorrow night.

He was edgy, sharing a room with Eames. But then, he'd have felt even worse if Eames had ended up sharing a room with someone else.

He was just more than a little scared of what was going to happen when they climbed into bed that night. But that was later, and so he resolutely put it out of his mind. For now.

***

As Eames had already noted at Mum and Oscar's wedding reception, Arthur's relatives were a noisy, boisterous bunch. Eames wasn't exactly intimidated, but he couldn't really bring himself to feel at home here, either. Even though they all seemed to be perfectly willing to embrace him as family, he still felt awkward and ill at ease.

The fact that Arthur was so clearly of the same mind helped a little -- not that Eames was pleased to see the other boy unhappy, of course -- but it only went so far.

They did have a pleasant enough dinner. Arthur tried to get them both a seat at the so-called "kids' table", but his grandmother scoffed and said that Arthur had been sitting with the adults for four years now, why should that change?

Mum was in her element, face bright, eyes shining, a smile rendering her absolutely stunning, and Eames felt that it was worth every moment of discomfort that he was putting up with to see her so happy in her new family. All those years when it had just been him and her -- which was all it had really ever been, even before his father had physically left the picture -- Eames had thought that it had been enough. But now he could see that she had needed more love and support than he had been able to offer. And while this stung his pride a little, made him feel a bit of petty jealousy, mostly he was happy for her.

It was just so much effort to keep his mother in good cheer. Sometimes it was nice that someone else could do so. First Oscar, and now Oscar's family. Eames couldn't but appreciate this fact.

Arthur's grandparents had a tree that put theirs at home to shame -- it was so tall that it went up nearly two stories. They had it in the huge entryway, at the curve where the stairs began and then swung up and around. Eames thought that it was striking, magnificent, and beautifully decorated, but he missed their smaller tree. _Their_ tree was in the den, surrounded by well-worn furniture, in a room that they actually used often. Not in a cold, impersonal part of the house, where there was a tile floor underfoot and a slight draft creeping in under the front door, twining about people's ankles.

There were dozens of brightly wrapped gifts under the tree, and he and Arthur added their to the pile. Eames had gotten his mother a silk scarf that Ariadne, with her exquisite taste in this particular accessory, had helped him to choose. He'd gotten Oscar a moleskin notebook and fountain pen under Arthur's expert advice. And Arthur's gift.... Well, that one he left in his luggage. Maybe it was because he was an intensely private person, but he didn't want Arthur unwrapping it in front of his entire family.

He did tell Arthur what he had done, so that Arthur wouldn't think that Eames had forgotten him. Arthur gave him a strange look, which he had expected, then volunteered with a slight blush to do the same with his gift for Eames, which he hadn't. Suddenly it felt just a little _too_ intimate, and yet to it was too late to take it back. And even with as strange as it was, Eames couldn't really regret the urge that had compelled him to make this decision.

Eames wasn't sure where Arthur went after dinner, but he himself wound up sitting on a sofa with Arthur's grandfather, listening to his war stories for hours. The older man was actually quite interesting, and he seemed to enjoy having a polite listener who hadn't heard his tales before, so Eames found that the time passed fairly quickly and relatively pleasantly.

He was just beginning to grow tired when Arthur appeared, a beat-up old space heater tucked under one arm and a determined expression making his adorable face even more adorable.

"Grandpa, I'm taking Eames to bed," he announced with a remarkable amount of aplomb.

Eames had to bite his lip to hold back a spontaneous titter at this particularly unfortunate phrasing, knowing that his face had heated a little. From the way Arthur's cheeks pinked as well and the way he wouldn't meet Eames' eyes, he'd evidently realized after he'd spoken how it had sounded.

Arthur's grandfather harrumphed a little. "It's only just after ten, Arty," he protested.

Eames could see Arthur wince at this nickname. "Be that as it may," he continued calmly, "Eames is still recovering from a bad cold. He needs his rest."

The older man quirked a brow at Eames, and Eames thought that Arthur actually looked a lot more like his grandfather than his father. Which was a good thing, as well as boding well for Arthur once he had added a handful of decades to his life. "You do look a bit peaky," he allowed grudgingly.

"I'm fine," Eames protested, frowning at Arthur. Not because he didn't want to head for bed -- he was actually quite knackered -- but it was the principle of the thing.

Arthur rolled his eyes and his grandfather chuckled and clapped a hand to Eames' shoulder. "Go on, boy. No good ever came of stinting yourself sleep."

Eames could hardly argue with that, so he bid the man a polite "good evening" and then hastened after Arthur as they beat a quick retreat.

***

Arthur never would have thought that he'd come to consider the basement bedroom a sanctuary rather than a last resort, but here he was. And here Eames was with him, which was more than half of what made it a sanctuary worth retreating to.

"They roped me into playing a board game," he told Eames, as he plugged the space heater into the socket on Eames' side of the room, setting it as near the bed as he could safely manage and then turned it to its highest setting. "It went on for over an hour."

"You have my pity," Eames said, his voice muffled as he changed clothes, moving quickly. He pulled on pajama bottoms, a teeshirt, then two sweatshirts. The room was slow to warm, even though the space heater was working its hardest, and Eames crawled under the covers, bundling up so that all Arthur could see were his eyes, the tips of his ears, and his tousled hair.

"I'm sorry you got stuck with Grandpa," Arthur apologized. He was wondering if it would be too weird for him to go and change in the half-bath next to the laundry room.... Ultimately deciding that, yes, yes, it _would_ be too weird, he changed just as swiftly as Eames had, putting on sweatpants and a long sleeve teeshirt. He didn't get chilled as easily as Eames did, but the room was still pretty cold, and would probably stay so all through the night.

"No worries," Eames assured him, lowering the blankets enough that he could enunciate clearly. "I quite enjoyed listening to his stories. He's an interesting gentleman."

Arthur chuckled, grabbing his laptop and crawling into bed beside Eames. "Yeah, you haven't had to sit through all of them ten times already. You've definitely made his night, just so you know. He doesn't usually warm up to people the way he warmed up to you. Sometimes not even family."

"Good to know," Eames said absently, but he was frowning at the laptop. "Are you staying up?" he asked, and Arthur noticed the heaviness of his lids, the way he was blinking sleepily.

"I am," he replied. "Gram gave me their new wireless password." He reached over and set a hand on Eames' head before he thought not to. He couldn't help it; Eames just looked so adorable, hunkered under the covers the way he was. "You can sleep, though. I'll try not to keep you up with my typing or anything."

Eames stared at him a moment, his lower lip extending -- not in a pout, just in thought; Arthur had seen him do it before and it drove him crazy every time -- then he wriggled further under the blankets. "Once I'm asleep, I don't think that'll be an issue," he drawled, his voice softer and more raspy than Arthur was used to. "Though I apologize in advance for any snoring that may occur."

Arthur's brows rose. "I thought you claimed you never snored," he said, a wide grin breaking over his face. Maybe it was the fact that he was safely tucked away from the rest of the family, maybe it was the chilly air, or maybe it was the heart-thumping excitement of being in the same bed as Eames, but he was suddenly feeling full of energy. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep any time soon.

Eames was too tired to frown, but his brow did furrow slightly. "Mm. Well, if I _do_ snore, forgive me," he mumbled. He reached a hand and clumsily patted at Arthur's hip, his palm heavy through the material of Arthur's sweatpants. Arthur instantly blushed, feeling his dick swell.

"Good night, Eames," he said fondly, hitting the power button on his laptop, wincing a little at the startup tone, even though it didn't seem to bother the other boy. He made a mental note to mute his computer once it had booted up.

Eames rolled over so that his back was to Arthur, yawning and burying his face in his pillow. "G'night, Arthur," he rasped in return, and he sounded both sleepy and fond, in a way that made Arthur's heart physically ache.

And then, Arthur was pretty sure, Eames almost immediately fell asleep.

There wasn't much going on online the night before Christmas Eve, Arthur had to admit, but there was no way he was going to be able to sleep _now_. Not when he could still feel the echo of Eames' touch, fleeting and casual though it had been, branded into the flesh of his hip, so close to his throbbing dick. Not when Eames was under the covers with him, right next to him, and they were going to be spending the entire night this way.

He really was pathetic, Arthur thought. To the point that he'd have slammed his head repeatedly into the headboard if doing so wouldn't have disturbed Eames.

Arthur wasn't used to feeling pathetic. At least not like this, and he really didn't like it. Yet, he couldn't help himself. It wasn't as though he had never dated. Well, okay, he'd never dated a _guy_. There hadn't been any guys before or after Dom that he had really been that interested in. There'd been the... the _thing_ with Nash, but that had been a huge mistake and was far better completely forgotten about. Ariadne had said it had been wiped from existence, and Arthur wasn't inclined to argue. Certainly, both he and Nash pretended it had never happened.

The point was, Arthur might not have a lot of romantic experience with guys, or a lot of physical experience with girls, but he wasn't a complete _virgin_....

Okay, okay. By most everyone's _technical_ definitions of virginity and the loss thereof, he _was_ still a virgin. But he wasn't untouched or inexperienced. Even if both the touching and the experience had been a bit haphazard.

What he wanted to do to Eames, what he wanted Eames to do to him... these were the sorts of things he didn't really have all that much experience with. Not practical experience. There was always the internet and porn. Those gave him plenty of fuel for his imagination, and even though Eames had twitted him more than once about his lack thereof, when it came time for jerk off fantasies, Arthur was amazingly inventive. Sometimes he even surprised himself, and that was usually when he came.

Next to him on the bed, Eames snuffled and shifted. _God_ , Arthur wanted to _touch him so badly_. He couldn't, though. It had been creepy enough when he'd done so while Eames had been sick and out of it due to cold meds. If Eames woke up and Arthur was petting him or kissing him.... Well, he probably wouldn't punch Arthur in the nose, Arthur had to admit, but he'd be shocked and quietly disgusted, and he'd never look at Arthur the same way again.

And that would be even worse.

Feeling completely depressed and disheartened, Arthur thought that maybe he should just give up and try to sleep, even though he wasn't tired. There didn't seem to be anything else to do. And going down the chilly hall just so he could masturbate in the shabby little half-bath was absolutely out of the question. That was last resort behavior, and he wasn't that desperate yet. Even though he was sharing a bed with Eames....

Just as he was moving to shut his laptop off, though, Ariadne popped onto chat.

_**Ariadne:** Hey, what are you still doing up?_

Arthur frowned, checking the time.

_**Arthur:** It's not even eleven yet._

After a moment, she fired off several replies in a row.

_**Ariadne:** Omg I can't believe you just typed out 11!_   
_Besides I thought you n Eames always crashed early_   
_Healthy wealthy & wise, right?_

Arthur shook his head, grinning slightly. She must be tired, stressed, or buzzed, because generally she tried to rein in the spelling and grammatical errors when they chatted, knowing that sloppy texting and messaging bothered him. She wasn't even being consistent in her 'net shorthand.

_**Arthur:** We're at my grandparents. Eames is tired so we went to bed early._

_**Ariadne:** Hiding out huh? I hear that_

Then, before he could reply, another question came through.

_OMG ARE YOU GUYS SHARING A BED?!_

Arthur winced, as much at the fact that she had guessed as at the "shouting".

_**Arthur:** Yes._

His reply was short, but it still garnered him a machine gun barrage of responses.

_**Ariadne:** You guys are in the same bed?!_   
_Tell Eames hi!_   
_Is he awake?_   
_Oh my GOD!_

Arthur's frown deepened. He couldn't figure out why she was so excited. It certainly didn't sound like jealousy. Usually when she was upset with him for any reason she clammed up. She definitely didn't start squealing and using all caps like a normal teenage girl. As a matter of fact, he couldn't think of the last time she had reacted to anything like this.

_**Arthur:** Eames is asleep already. I just hope my typing doesn't wake him._

As he hit the enter key a new thought occurred to him.

_If you wanted to know what Eames wears to sleep in, you could have asked already._   
_And before you ask, he usually sleeps on his side._

There was a short pause after he sent this, and he glanced over, making sure that Eames was still asleep. He was buried so deeply under the covers that Arthur couldn't see anything but a singular tuft of hair, so he figured he wasn't disturbing the other boy.

_**Ariadne:** Why would I ask how he sleeps?_   
_That's your business, not mine._   
_You're the one in bed with him._   
_Wait what -does- he wear to sleep in?_

Arthur tried to decipher this bundle of questions and statements. They seemed to him to be fairly contradictory, and so he just answered the last one.

_**Arthur:** Right now he's wearing pajama bottoms and three tops. He gets cold easily._   
_But I think he usually sleeps nude._

Arthur's face burned as he sent off that last sentence. Partially because of its content; the fact that, yes, he was fairly certain that Eames slept in the raw. But also because he was telling Ariadne this. It wasn't his business, it wasn't her business, and he was both embarrassed and turned on in equal measure. He really shouldn't have told her....

_We're in the basement room and it's cold._

He might have sounded a bit defensive in this latest statement, but he was already beginning to regret over-sharing. When Ariadne did reply, it wasn't what he might have thought it would be.

_**Ariadne:** Seriously Arthur why would I care about Eames sleeping habits?_

He stared at the screen blankly. He shouldn't have to spell it out for her, should he? And he knew that she wasn't mean enough to rub it in; that Eames liked to spend time with her, that Eames hugged her and touched her, in ways he never touched Arthur. While he waffled, she sent another cryptic exclamation.

_Omg Arthur really?!_

_**Arthur:** Really, what?_

He scowled, feeling as though he was missing something. He wasn't able to keep up with Ariadne's rapid fire mood changes and subject shifts. She was always like this on chat, far more scattered than she was in face-to-face conversation, but tonight he was having an even harder time than usual figuring her out.

Of course, it didn't help that he was sitting in bed right next to Eames. Even though Eames was wearing three layers and was bundled up so tightly in the bedcovers that Arthur couldn't even see him, he _knew_ that Eames was there, soundly sleeping, naked underneath his clothing, less than six inches away from his hip.

_**Ariadne:** Are you -that- oblivious?_

He could _hear_ her exasperated tone of voice in his head, but he didn't know _what_ she was exasperated about.

_**Arthur:** Oblivious to what?_   
_I know you guys like each other._   
_I'm perfectly okay with it._   
_You're my best friend and Eames is_

He accidentally hit enter before completing the sentence, and just sat there a moment, staring at it stupidly.

What _was_ Eames to him? Well, a lot of things that he couldn't communicate to Ariadne, that was for sure. A walking wet dream. His other best friend. An incredibly hot guy that he had to live with but couldn't touch. A super nice, thoughtful person who did laundry because he knew Arthur didn't like it, who helped him with the dishes, who cooked his favorite desserts when he'd had a rough day. He was someone that Arthur was _in love with_ , and yet he couldn't tell Ariadne that, couldn't tell Eames that, because they were, presumably, in the process of getting together, and he didn't want to make things awkward. He didn't want to alienate them. Not to mention, he couldn't tell Eames any of that because Eames was his _stepbrother_.

All of this flashed through his head, but he couldn't write any of it. Well, maybe that last bit. So he did.

_Eames is my stepbrother._

That was easily the most unenthusiastic thing he could have said about Eames, he thought with an internal wince. Even if it was the truth, it was just a fraction of the greater whole.

_**Ariadne:** You are such a goon._

He blinked, wondering if he had misread... but, no, Ariadne really had typed that.

_**Arthur:** What?_

_**Ariadne:** oh shit i have to go! ARTHUR! I'm not interested in Eames like that!_

He felt his breath catch. He didn't know why, but seeing her put it into words like that, black text on a white screen... it changed something. He didn't know what. But it changed _something_.

_**Ariadne:** text you tomrrow! g-night!_

And Ariadne signed off before Arthur could think of anything else to say.

He sat there a long moment, staring at her last few lines, then automatically began to power down his laptop. It was time to get some sleep. He and Eames usually did keep a pretty early schedule; especially for teenage boys. Arthur did it because he liked to get his exercises in before school, which meant rising with enough time to do that, bathe, then get ready to go without rushing. During breaks, it didn't seem worth it to lounge about in bed. At least not for more than a day or two before getting back to his usual routine. He wasn't sure why Eames did it.

Speaking of Eames....

It was going to hurt him to find out that Ariadne wasn't interested, Arthur thought with a slight grimace. Ariadne shouldn't have been leading him on.

Well, maybe she hadn't been, he realized as he bent over the edge of the bed to slide his laptop back into its case. She wasn't really any more friendly with Eames than she was with Arthur. She had been more physically affectionate, true, but that was largely because she knew that Arthur wasn't used to being grabbed, hugged, or flopped on, while Eames had never seemed to mind, had seemed to welcome it. It hadn't been the fact that _Ariadne_ had been more affectionate with Eames that had niggled at Arthur. It was the fact that _Eames_ had been more affectionate with Ariadne.

Or.

Arthur slid under the covers, pulling them up over his cold nose. The space heater was churning away, but the room was still far cooler than he was used to, and it was warm under the covers.

Or maybe the problem he had was that Eames wasn't physically affectionate with _him_.

After all, it wasn't Ariadne that Eames cooked for, cleaned for, did homework with.... Arthur had so much more of Eames than Ariadne had ever had. He just didn't have the casual physical intimacy. And that was partially on him -- okay, it was _mostly_ on him. He didn't dare to touch Eames, to encourage Eames to touch him, when the fact of physical contact was more likely than not to result in an unfortunate erection.

It was sort of a "damned if you do, damned if you don't" paradox, Arthur thought sleepily, as he settled into bedcovers that smelled like someone else's detergent. And he couldn't see any way to change that. He couldn't tell Ariadne, and he _definitely_ couldn't tell Eames.

So, he was kind of stuck, but now he knew that Ariadne wasn't infatuated with Eames. He was going to have to do whatever he could to soften that blow when it came time for Eames to find out.

It wasn't his place to tell the other boy. That was up to Ariadne. But Arthur couldn't help fretting about it, worrying the subject over and over in his mind, as he drifted off and fell asleep.

He didn't have any great revelations, and when he dreamed, he dreamt of doing dishes with Eames at home. As far as he was concerned, this was a very good dream.

***

Eames had gone to bed cold and shuddering, but he woke warm, with a heavy, lazy sense of contentment.

As reality filtered into his senses, he realized why. He was wrapped up around Arthur in bed as though they were lovers.

 _Oh shit,_ was his first thought, and he went still, lying there a moment, trying to get his sleep addled brain working enough to figure out a way free of this incredibly awkward situation.

It only made sense, he thought foggily. He wasn't used to sharing a bed through the entire night, but on the few occasions that he had done so in the past, cuddling _had_ occurred. And Arthur was like a compact heat generator. Eames was constantly boggled at how someone so slim could radiate so much warmth... but maybe it had something to do with his metabolism, how he remained so slim. This thought actually made a fair amount of sense.

Well, whatever the cause, Arthur was warm and Eames had been cold. Now Eames was very warm as well. He was pressed up against Arthur's back, his face buried somewhere between the other boy's shoulderblades, his arms locked around his waist, and, worst of all, his hard cock was dangerously close to grinding into Arthur's lovely arse.

If Arthur woke now, Eames was fucked, he thought in a slow, sleepy sort of panic. He knew he ought to be rolling away, letting loose his embrace, retreating to the bathroom to deal with his insistent hard-on....

But this felt so pleasurable that it was hard to pull away, even though good sense told him to do so -- was screaming at him to do so. Arthur smelled of himself and of home, his shirt soft under Eames' cheek, his shoulders hard and muscular, warm and comforting beneath the material. Eames could feel the flesh of Arthur's stomach under his fingers, which meant that he had wormed his hand up underneath the hem of the other boy's shirt. That was more disaster waiting to happen, but it was the most intimate contact that they'd had yet, and Eames couldn't but savour it for a moment, memorizing the soft skin under his palm, soaking in the heat, tucking this sensation away to fuel future masturbatory sessions.

And speaking of his cock, it was standing up, hard and throbbing. It did so most mornings, he had to admit, but it had never been _this close_ to Arthur before. If he shifted up a little... if he hitched forward just a touch....

He closed his eyes more tightly and bit back a groan, his system overloaded with heat and desire. He _wanted_. He wanted to move upward just that last bit, press his demanding erection into the hot cleft of Arthur's rear, plant open-mouth kisses to the tender skin just below Arthur's hairline at the nape of his neck, stroke his stomach and then lower, dipping a hand into his sweatpants....

Eames choked, feeling his face burn against Arthur's upper back. It was humid, hot, and incredibly intimate under the covers, just the two of them, coiled together, and Eames wanted nothing more than to wake like this every single morning. And yet he knew there was absolutely no way that this could end well.

Turning his head slightly, Eames pressed his lips to Arthur's shoulderblade, feeling the other boy's solid warmth through the thin material of his top. He shouldn't... he really shouldn't... but he couldn't help himself.

This was when Arthur sighed and shifted. It was too late for Eames to pull away, so he relaxed all his muscles and tried very hard to breathe as though he was still asleep. There wasn't anything else that he _could_ do at this point.

Evidently it worked. Arthur mumbled something, stirred with more purpose, then lifted his head and almost rolled back, right into Eames' body.

"Shit," he spat out, tensing all over. He rolled the other way, tugging free of Eames' arms, then sliding off the bed.

Eames wasn't about to fake waking, so he just let out a low sound and settled into the warmth that Arthur had left. It smelled like Arthur, and Eames couldn't contain a small groan as he buried his face in the sheet. He had rolled onto his stomach, and so his hard cock was pressing into the mattress; it was taking all of his will power not to grind into the bed until he came, just from being in Arthur's warm spot, smelling Arthur on the linens. And, of course, there was the fact that Arthur himself was still within arm's reach.

Not for long, though. With another curse, harsher and more alert this time, Arthur shoved up off the bed and staggered out of the room. Eames assumed he was headed for the half-bath down at the other end of the hall; probably had to take a morning leak.

Now that he was alone Eames rocked his hips a few times... but he didn't dare to reach down and grab himself, jerk himself off. He was still sharing the room with Arthur, still sharing the bed, and the room had no ventilation. Shooting off in his pants, wrapped in the sheets that he and Arthur were going to sleep between again the next night, was completely out of the question.

With a low groan, distressed this time rather than turned on, Eames shoved back the covers and sat up. The cold air dampened a little of his ardor. Realizing that he was shortly going to have to face Arthur's family and his own Mum took care of the rest of that. Now all he was left with was a lingering fullness to his cock and an overwhelming need to piss.

He hoped Arthur wasn't going to take too long in the bathroom. And in the meantime, he got up and got dressed, shivering the whole time. Might as well prepare to face the day.

***

In Arthur's grandparents' house, Christmas Eve day consisted mostly of cooking and baking. In an act of defiant reverse sexism, the males weren't allowed to help; not even Arthur, who was a favorite of his Gram's and an acknowledged whiz in the kitchen.

Arthur was just as glad, honestly. While he did like cooking and baking, he liked doing it at home, in his own kitchen, and definitely not surrounded by his grandmother, aunts, and female cousins, all talking about womanly things. His father, grandfather, and uncles had long since become used to this tradition, and they just hung around, shooting the shit, waiting for the delicious appetizers and desserts to be ready to eat. His cousins played video games, messed around on their computers, lurked in the entryway where the tree and presents were, or, in the case of Ernie and Forrest, went outside to shoot BB guns.

"You'll shoot your eye out," little Miranda caroled at them as they went out the door, causing Eames to wrinkle his brow in confusion. Arthur contemplated introducing Eames to the particular movie that quote came from, but doing so would have required booting Sarah, Peter, and Lyle off the television... and that just wasn't going to happen. Anyway, nostalgia aside, he didn't really feel like watching it.

He and Eames ended up retreating to their basement bedroom before it was even lunch time.

"Are you sure we won't get in trouble for being antisocial?" Eames asked, though he was already sinking down on the bed as he said it, stuffing an oversized candy cane in his mouth.

Arthur had to avert his eyes from this delicious, _pornographic_ display. He went to get his laptop, hoping that his movements were natural and not too jerky. Holy shit, Eames was trying to fucking _kill_ him.

When he had awakened wrapped in Eames' arms his libido had gone into overdrive. He'd been so turned on he had almost come right then, before he'd been able to disentangle himself and flee into the bathroom. His clothes had still smelled like Eames, he had still been able to feel the phantom echo of Eames' arm on his waist, Eames' hand on his stomach, and he'd gotten off in under one minute, without using any lube other than a little saliva and his own precome.

It had been too much and not enough, and he still tingled when he thought about waking up in Eames' embrace. He had _never_ thought that he'd get that close to Eames, ever. Never thought that he would find himself in that sexual a situation. Not that Eames had considered it to be sexual. But Arthur... oh, God, Arthur had. Arthur did.

Belatedly, he remembered that Eames had asked a question.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "The women are busy and the men don't care."

"Good," Eames sighed, flopping back into his pillow and practically _fellating_ that damned candy cane. Arthur wasn't even sure where Eames had gotten it, but he tended to suspect his Gram was to blame. "I could use a break. No offense."

Arthur snorted, paying his laptop way more attention than he needed to as he booted it up. "They're _my_ family and they drive me crazy, Eames. I'm just as glad to be down here as you are, if not more so."

"Have they been grilling you the way you expected?" Eames asked curiously, and he was licking red-stained lips. Arthur knew that if he kissed Eames now he would taste of peppermint, and the temptation was almost overwhelming. Arthur knew better than to give in to it, though. That would wreck everything.

"Not really," he replied, signing into the wireless, even though he knew there wasn't going to be anything going on. He was actually a little afraid to catch Ariadne on chat again. Fortunately, she didn't seem to be online now. "Gram asked if I was seeing anyone, at dinner last night, but otherwise they've been mainly leaving me be. I think the fact that you've been around has helped."

"Oh?" Eames pulled the candy cane out of his mouth with a popping sound and Arthur closed his eyes, grateful that his laptop covered his growing hard-on. "Well, glad to be of service."

He sounded amused, jovial, and Arthur was glad, because his remark could have been interpreted really unfortunately, if Eames had been so inclined.

Or maybe that was just Arthur's poorly repressed desire speaking.

What he'd _meant_ was that his family didn't know Eames well enough yet to get after him about his romantic life, and since Arthur had been hanging around Eames and vice versa for most of the visit so far, they were more reluctant to tackle him as well. And he was just fine with that.

"So what Christmas traditions will your family be partaking in?" Eames asked. It sounded casual, but Arthur thought he could detect an undertone of anxiety, and he was glad all over again that they'd been able to come down here and hide out.

"It's all pretty low key," he replied. "No one is very religious, so it's mainly about the food and gifts." He could see Eames doing obscene things with the candy cane out of the corner of his eye, and was doing his best to think unsexy thoughts. Talking about his extended family helped. Not enough, but some. "They used to make like Santa brought the presents in the middle of the night, but as you can see, no one is bothering this year. We're all too old for that. So, today, once the women are done in the kitchen we're all going to eat good food until we're ready to pop. The adults drink some, once the kids are in bed, but unless it's a little wine, Dad doesn't let me have anything. Since Gram favors rum and eggnog, there usually _isn't_ any wine."

"I can do without any of that," Eames said in a flat tone, and Arthur winced. He'd kind of forgotten. It wasn't a constant reality for him the way it was for Eames. Although, now that he thought of it, even wine had lost its mild appeal for him after what had happened at the Fischer party, after what he had learned about Eames' father.

"We can come down here," he offered. "No one will complain. And no one around here gets mean drunk. They just get really happy and kinda dumb."

Eames chuckled, which Arthur wasn't expecting. "Not too fond of them, are you, darling?"

Arthur glanced over at him, one eyebrow arched. This wasn't the first time Eames had used that endearment, and it always threw him, because it was the same thing that Gloria called Eames. But he kind of thought that Eames wasn't even aware he was doing it.

"They're family," he said with a shrug. "Not people I'd _choose_ to spend time with, but they're better than a lot of other families out there."

"True that," Eames muttered, and now he sounded a little bitter. Arthur winced again.

"I love Gram and Grandpa, and Aunt Judith can be fun, but the rest of them are too different from me for us to really get along. And aside from Meredith, who couldn't make it this year because she's in Paris, most of my cousins are complete idiots."

"You do seem to have gotten the best dip out of this particular gene pool," Eames drawled, and his eyes were bright as he met Arthur's gaze, his grin cheeky. Then his expression softened. "What was your mother like, if you don't mind my asking?"

Arthur smiled. A little sadly, but, "She died when I was six," he said. "I remember a lot of things about her, but they're kind of blurry. She was beautiful, she had a lovely singing voice, and she was smart. Not that Dad isn't, but I'm pretty sure that Mom surpassed him."

"Must be where you got it from," Eames said, and Arthur flushed at the approval and the matter of fact tone of Eames' voice, both combined, even though they should have been a contradiction. "No offense to your father and his fam, of course."

"Of course."

"Wish I could've met your Mum," Eames mused, sliding a hand behind his head. He looked like porn, looked like he was ready to get a blowjob, or possibly to give one. Then he frowned, lower lip sticking out. "But if she was still around, then we never would've met. Hm. I seem to see a fatal flaw in my logic."

Arthur laughed. His mother had died when he was so young that it didn't really hurt to talk about her, not much, and Eames was just so _cute_. As much as Arthur had loved his mother -- and he really, really had; she had been exquisite -- she was in his past and Eames was in his present.

"What about tomorrow?" Eames was asking. He rolled a little toward Arthur, his hair crushed against the pillow, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Arthur could have crawled into his arms, sucked the candy cane flavor off his lips, and died happy.... But he was too pragmatic to do anything that crazy.

Arthur frowned, trying to focus when all he wanted to think about was having sex with Eames. "Well, all of the cousins want to get up early to open gifts, and the adults have stopped fighting them on it. There's a lot of coffee, a lot of chaos, and once everything is unwrapped and the kids are off playing with their new toys and junk, some of the adults nap while the rest of them sit around and snack on leftovers from Christmas Eve and talk."

"What are you usually doing at this time?" Eames asked.

"Messing around on my laptop," Arthur said, indicating it. "Or if I got any good books I might read them. Sometimes I'd call Ariadne, but she's with her family this year."

Eames blinked slowly, and Arthur was struck all over again by how long his lashes were. They weren't thick or girlish or anything. Just really, really long.

"Do you miss her?" Eames asked.

"What?" Arthur stared. The question had been asked in such an innocent tone of voice, and Eames was carefully not meeting his eye.... Arthur felt his stomach twist. He knew Eames well enough by now to know that all of this was suspect.

"Well..." Eames drawled, then stopped again.

Arthur waited for Eames to continue, but he didn't. He squinted at Eames, so narrowly that he felt like Dom. "Ariadne is my friend," he said slowly, reminding himself that Ariadne was set to break Eames' heart, but not knowing how he could cushion the blow. Still, even though Eames evidently didn't have a chance with Ariadne, Arthur didn't want him to feel jealous. "She's _just_ my friend, Eames."

It might have been comical, how Eames' eyes widened and he stared at Arthur in shock. But Arthur was too busy trying to figure out why it felt as though they were talking in circles around each other. He felt somehow that _both_ of them were missing a critical point.

"Huh." That was all Eames said in reply, and that wasn't really a word.

"Anyway," Arthur continued doggedly, getting back to the previous subject. "Once everything is unwrapped and the adults have kicked back for a while, people start hauling out the excuses and taking off. Dad usually talks about spending another night, but then we usually end up leaving a little before dinner time, picking up something to eat on the way, and getting home in time for bed."

"That sounds good." Eames settled back and stuck the candy cane in his mouth again. "Home sounds good."

Arthur turned his attention back to his laptop, but he knew he was grinning; he could feel it stretching his face to the point that it almost ached. This might not be the first time Eames had called it _home_ \-- he was pretty sure it wasn't -- but he treasured it whenever that word slipped out of his mouth. Far too often Eames said things like "your home", and Arthur didn't like that one bit.

"Is there anything you want me to say to Ariadne?" he asked, as he opened an empty e-mail and tried to ignore the faint slurping sounds beside him. It wasn't annoying; Eames was clearly making an effort to _not_ be obnoxious. It was just that it was making Arthur's dick so hard that he was having trouble concentrating. Well, on anything other than Eames' lips.

"Tell her I said hi," Eames replied lazily.

Arthur recalled that Ariadne had said much the same thing the night before, and he was beginning to think that maybe he had built up this grand, growing romance between the two of them inside his head that it might not actually exist.

Huh.

Well, he was relieved. But still confused. And far more concerned with the state of Eames' emotions than he ought by any rights to be. Yet he couldn't help himself.

***

True to Arthur's predictions, there was a lot of good stuff to eat and drink, no real pressure to do holiday things, and they were able to spend most of their time hiding in the basement bedroom they'd been assigned.

At one point after lunch, Eames had Arthur guide him to a bathroom upstairs where he could use a shower. He felt better after, and not just because he took the opportunity for a nice healthy wank. It should have felt more than a little wrong, standing there in a shower belonging to Arthur's grandparents and touching himself to the thought of Arthur, but Eames had awakened in the morning wrapped around Arthur and he was going to have to share a bed with him again the coming night. This was all about self preservation.

It was more awkward, heading down to the ground floor after he was done and being caught in casual conversation with one of Arthur's aunts in the hallway, beside the tree, with his sated cock still throbbing slightly in his pants... but Eames was a sixteen year old male. He was used to his penis being social inappropriate on him. And at least now it wasn't likely to get hard again for a while.

Arthur bathed as well, and while he was doing so, Eames checked in with his Mum. She was still having a great old time, and Eames was happy to see this so he tacked on a little extra enthusiasm when she asked how he was doing. It _was_ going better than he had feared, after all. He and Arthur were spending most of their time hanging out, and Eames wasn't being forced to do anything he didn't want to. Not yet, anyway.

Of course, it would have been greatly preferable if they'd been at home, but since that wasn't an option, Eames was glad it was going as well as it was.

After dinner -- which was a loud, cheerful, excited affair, even more so than the night before, because Christmas was that much closer -- Arthur's grandfather took both Arthur and Eames down to view his model railroad. Recalling Arthur's comments on the subject earlier, Eames took this to be an honour, and he treated it as such. It was as much the pleased smile he got from Arthur as it was the good will of Arthur's grandfather that brought a warm swell of accomplishment to his chest.

The model railroad really was amazing. It filled nearly the whole room, and there was countryside as well as a city, with little plastic people leading little plastic lives. There were two completely different tracks, one running a passenger train and the other a cargo train. Arthur's grandfather was in the process of constructing a mountain in the back of the room, so Eames got to see a bit of what went into making the model work, which was even more impressive to him.

They passed two hours this way, Eames and Arthur examining the model, finding little details that surprised and delighted them, Arthur's grandfather speaking about a multitude of things, only some of them related to his model railroad, then quizzing Eames about his own upbringing, his home country. Eames didn't mind answering any of these questions, since none of them involved his father. Arthur's grandfather was an interesting man who was easy to talk to, and Eames found himself confessing to some of the trouble he'd gotten into, before stating fervently that he was going to avoid that in his new home in the states. Arthur's grandfather seemed more bemused by this than judgmental, and it came out that he'd been a bit of a hellraiser himself when he'd been young himself.

They missed dessert because Eames and Arthur's grandfather were comparing tattoos, not that Eames minded, because he was still full of dinner, and then they all went back upstairs.

"One present tonight, then the rest in the morning," Arthur's grandmother said imperiously, and everyone under a certain age groaned in disappointment, even though Arthur had informed Eames that this was what happened every year.

Eames netted a teeshirt with an image from a television programme he'd watched as a kid imprinted on the front, from his mother. While he no longer had any interest, and probably wouldn't wear the shirt anywhere but at home, it gave him a sense of nostalgia, and he knew that Mum was trying, so he didn't have to fake his thanks as he bussed her on the cheek and expressed his gratitude.

Arthur opened a gift from his grandmother and Eames had to grin when he saw that it was a very nice silk tie with a lovely pattern, and his grin widened when he saw how pleased Arthur was to receive it. No other sixteen year old in the world.... Seriously.

"I knew you'd like it," his grandmother said, smiling as Arthur hugged her.

Despite Arthur's words to the contrary, sometimes family wasn't so bad after all, Eames thought. And from the light in Arthur's eyes as he met Eames' gaze through the crowd of squealing cousins, he thought that the other boy might very well in this moment agree with him.

***

Arthur and Eames made another early retreat, heading down to the basement bedroom together. Like the night before they prepared for sleep, but unlike the night before Eames wasn't tired, and so they sat together on the bed. The space heater hummed and they were comfortable and full of good food and good will toward all men; especially each other.

Also, they were avoiding the alcohol and the rapidly devolving conversation upstairs. Which was another win in Arthur's books. In part because he found the experience to be less than captivating, and in part because he knew it disconcerted Eames. Well, okay, it was mostly the latter.

"This hasn't turned out too badly," Eames said, and he was back to work on the candy cane he'd been sucking earlier. Arthur was filled with such a sense of warmth and cheer that he didn't even avert his eyes, just let the arousal crawl over him in a slow, hot swell.

"No, but I'll still be glad to get home," Arthur added. Because it was only the truth. Home was where it was just him and Eames, and sometimes their parents. Home was where his own bed was. Although, it hadn't exactly been a hardship sharing a bed with Eames.... Well, it had been _hard_. So hard that he had come almost immediately that morning, once he'd escaped into the privacy of the bathroom. But this was as close as he was ever going to get to Eames, and he knew that he should savor the experience.

And pray that he didn't do something horribly embarrassing tonight or in the morning.

"As will I," Eames agreed easily, and he smiled at Arthur with a strange sort of affection on his face, an expression that Arthur couldn't help echoing back at him.

Arthur didn't want to be rude so he left his laptop in its case. He did, however, check his phone -- which was fine because Eames was doing the same -- where he found that he had a series of texts from Ariadne.

_[8:31pm I know I already gave you your gift but here's another:]_

_[8:31pm Eames is GAY and HE'S TOTALLY HOT FOR YOU]_

_[8:32pm don't be a pussy arthur - GO FOR IT!]_

_[8:34pm PS he's in love with you too, so play nice. don't break his heart.]_

Arthur stared at his screen blankly, his face feeling numb, his heart pounding as he tried to process this barrage of blunt declarations. Not to mention what their content might mean to him personally, how they could change things, change _everything_. If she was even right.

There was too much for him to take in right this moment, and so he shot off a quick reply instead, his thumbs moving almost of their own accord.

_[9:10pm ARE YOU DRUNK?!]_

He very rarely used all caps, considered "shouting" to be rude, but in this case anything else would have seemed to be too moderate a response.

Eames was frowning down at his own phone, and Arthur felt his stomach wrench in a physically painful knot, almost felt like he was going to puke, suddenly terrified of what she might have texted Eames about Arthur, about his feelings and urges where Eames was concerned.

"I don't understand," Eames said, his brow creased, his full lips pulled down at the corners. "Have I said or done something to offend our dear Ariadne?" He raised his eyes to meet Arthur's gaze, his own confused. "Her text to me says, Merry fucking Christmas."

Arthur let out a hoot of laughter before he could help himself, mostly relief, his hands shaking with the released of coiled tension, the flood of adrenaline still roiling in his system.

Eames blinked, then peered at him closely. "Are you all right?" he asked, sounding concerned. Arthur cursed the fact that his pale complexion gave so much away; he could feel that he was still white, but with two hectic patches of heat developing high in the apples of his cheeks. What he couldn't bring himself to regret was the fact that Eames knew him so well and was so solicitous of his health.

"I'm fine," he answered through stiff lips. He knew his tone wasn't at all convincing, but there was no way he could share with Eames what Ariadne had texted _him_. "And Ariadne's not angry at you. She's just..." he tried to think of some polite way to put it, and couldn't, "Being a bitch."

"Ah." Eames grinned broadly, didn't seem at all offended on Ariadne's behalf, which went a long way toward convincing Arthur that his affections really didn't lay with her. Though he still couldn't be sure she was telling the truth when she said that Eames was gay. Much less... much less the rest of it. "She can be, from time to time," Eames allowed fondly. "But she usually does mean well."

"True," Arthur agreed, but he was more than a little distracted. Because well meaning or not, Ariadne's texts to him had thrown his thoughts, emotions, and understanding of the world around him into upheaval.

Ariadne wasn't answering Arthur's text, which meant that she wasn't available, so he put his phone away. He stared at Eames, sitting there in his pajama bottoms and two sweatshirts, his hair tousled, his nose and cheeks rosy from the slight chill that remained in the air despite the space heater. His lips, which were always pink, were stained an even more ruddy shade as well as being sticky with sugar from the candy cane.

He couldn't have looked more appealing to Arthur if he had been trying. And if Ariadne was right... if... if Ariadne was _right_ , then Arthur _could have_ what he so desperately wanted.

He just couldn't believe it, though. Couldn't trust that she was right. It couldn't be true. It was too impossible, too perfect, too... well, _unbelievable_.

"Arthur?" Eames said his name in that curling drawl, tilting his head slightly, his expression concerned once again.

If Ariadne was right, then Eames wasn't just hot for Arthur, he had feelings for him as well. Considering how far gone Arthur was on Eames this was both comforting and terrifying in equal parts. Although he still had no idea what -- if anything -- he was going to _do_ about this knowledge

Arthur was no coward, but this was too big a leap for him to make. He knew what Ariadne was pushing him to do. He knew that she only wanted what was best for him, for both of them, and that she wouldn't have given him this shove if she hadn't been _very_ sure. But she wasn't the one who had to live with Eames, as stepbrothers, forever -- or, well, at least for a couple more years, until they left for college.

If he did _anything_ , it might completely fuck up _everything_.

"Seriously now, _are_ you all right?"

Eames hand was warm around Arthur's, Arthur blinked at Eames. Read the growing concern and consternation on his face. Felt the strength and grace of the fingers holding his. Remembered the heat and comfort of waking with Eames' arms around him, and how badly he had wanted to turn and curl up against Eames' chest, kiss him until he woke up, reach down and slide his hand into his pajama bottoms....

"Arthur?"

"Sorry," he said, licking his lips. Because he was watching Eames so closely he saw those bright grey eyes flicker downward, caught the flash of heat that flared in them for a moment. It was a fleeting thing, but he noticed, was not in any doubt that he had seen it.

And this was what finally put him at ease, that what decided him. Evidently Ariadne was right. And if she was right about Eames wanting him, then it stood to reason that she must be right in the rest of her advice. Arthur was going to have to trust to that.

He was just going to have to take a leap of faith.

***

"Arthur--" Eames began, worried by the strangely distant look in Arthur's eyes, but before he could complete his third query as to his state of well being, Arthur's hand closed around his, and the other boy surged forward, plastering his mouth against Eames' in something that couldn't be mistaken for anything other than a kiss.

 _Kiss,_ Eames' brain supplied helpfully. _Arthur is kissing you._ This was about as far as his brain was willing to go, but fortunately for both Eames and Arthur, Eames' body knew better than his brain, and within two heartbeats he was kissing back, as eagerly and as easily as he had ever done.

More eagerly, in fact, because there had _never_ been anyone Eames had wanted to kiss as much he wanted to kiss Arthur. And now here he was....

Arthur licked his way into Eames' mouth, leaving no doubt as to his intent; not that Eames could have mistaken this for a friendly or fraternal kiss. Not in any universe.

They pressed toward one another, both of them at an awkward angle on the bed but neither one willing to give this up for as long as it would take to shift positions. Eames was half afraid this was some wonderful dream, even though he was sure that he was awake, and even more, he was afraid of Arthur changing his mind, deciding that he didn't want this after all.

He had to admit that this seemed less than likely as Arthur's free hand came up to lock on the nape of his neck, as Arthur's tongue twined around Eames' own, teeth pressing hard into Eames' lower lip when he tilted his head slightly to get a better fit between their mouths.

Arthur had strong hands, large and yet incredibly graceful, with broad palms and long, slim fingers. Eames had had more than one vivid fantasy featuring those hands alone and what they might be able to do to Eames if only Arthur were so inclined.

And it certainly seemed as though Arthur might be so inclined. His grip on Eames' neck was firm and unfaltering, not tight enough to be painful but very much _there_. Eames let go his hold on Arthur's other hand, and reached for Arthur's shoulders.

What they did couldn't exactly be termed wrestling, since they both had the same goal in mind, but they did end up manhandling one another a bit. Eames loved being in bed with someone who was just as strong as he was, someone he didn't have to be careful with, and Arthur might be more slender, but he could definitely hold his own.

Eames even let Arthur come out on top, because as long as they were kissing, he was perfectly happy to be wherever he was put. He still wasn't sure _why_ they were kissing, but he had no desire whatsoever to bring it to a halt.

They'd had a moment to grab a little air while they'd been rolling, but now they went back to snogging one another breathless. Arthur seemed to have an obsessive fascination with Eames' lips, with tracing their curves with his tongue, and Eames was perfectly happy to indulge him in this.

"You taste like peppermint," Arthur lifted his head just enough so that he could murmur into Eames' mouth, the words hot and wet against his lips and chin.

"If you wanted a taste of the candy cane, you could have just asked," Eames said breathlessly, then he looped his arm around Arthur's neck and tugged him down, thrusting his tongue into his mouth before Arthur could do something unbearably ridiculous and adorable like take his words seriously.

***

Arthur knew better than to take Eames' jibe to heart, but he also knew that they really ought to talk about what they were doing. If only he could stop kissing Eames long enough for any sort of conversation....

He was just gearing himself up to pull away, to try to form words, when Eames' hands slid down his back and grasped his rear, gripping tightly. Any words he might have spoken flew right out of his mind, scattering in the face of intense arousal, and, honestly, he couldn't bring himself to care.

He groaned into Eames' mouth, unconsciously tugging at the other boy's hair where his fingers were sunk into it, his hips surging forward. Out of arousal, certainly not in any sort of attempt to escape Eames' grip. And since he was right over top of Eames, stomach to stomach, chest to chest, hip to hip, this drove their hard erections together through the thin material of their pants.

"Oh, fuck," he thought Eames gasped out into his mouth, and his thighs fell open in invitation at the same time his fingers clenched more tightly in the muscles of Arthur's ass. This wasn't in any way a contradiction; this allowed Arthur to slot their dicks more closely together between them, to get his knees under him and get some friction started.

Between arousal and exertion, as well as the sharp jerking movements of his thrusts, Arthur finally had to move his mouth away from Eames', before he bit down or clashed their teeth together painfully or something. He tracked his parted lips down the hard, sharp line of Eames' cheekbone, then turned his face into the side of Eames' neck. He lowered his hands from Eames' head and hair to his shoulders, getting a firmer grip so that he could hump more vigorously against the other boy. Because that was what he was doing; he didn't feel the need to pretty it up with another word, and it was so satisfying, his dick sliding against Eames', pressed together between the solid planes of their bellies, so fucking _hot_ even through the inconvenience of their clothing.

Eames was neither silent nor still beneath him. He gasped in Arthur's ear, drawing the lobe into his hot sucking mouth briefly, before letting loose in order to pant out a string of curses and vowel sounds. His hands were restless, running up and down the curve of Arthur's spine, but always coming back to his flexing ass, fingers digging into the hard muscles. His hips were working just as frantically as Arthur's, grinding up into Arthur's body, and now that Arthur was settled where they both wanted him, Eames' powerful thighs came up to twine around him, his heels digging into the mattress as he strained upward, toward Arthur.

"Oh!" Eames locked his arms around Arthur's upper back, not even trying for the finesse of ass-grabbing any longer, choking out a surprised little sound as he jolted under Arthur and came in his pants. Arthur could _feel_ the orgasm break through Eames, his hands clutching at Arthur's shirt, his muscles tensing, spine twisting as he writhed beneath Arthur, into the mattress, up toward Arthur, lost in the thought-shattering rapture of coming _hard_.

Arthur could also feel the heated liquid that spread through Eames' pajama bottoms, and that was about the time that he came in his own sweatpants, grasping Eames' shoulders almost hard enough to bruise as uncontrolled pleasure spiraled through him, winding his body up tighter and tighter, and then letting it all loose as he shuddered his way through one of the most intense orgasms he'd ever had.

Once his muscles relaxed, lassitude and satiation washing over him in a warm, enveloping wave, Arthur collapsed on top of Eames.

Eames didn't seem to mind. He was a limp puddle beneath Arthur, letting out low, contented noises as he ran his fingers through Arthur's hair. Arthur kind of missed having Eames' hands on his ass, but this was nice too. He felt, as stupid as it sounded even in his own head, cherished.

Anyway, they really needed to talk, before this went any further.

First thing, though, and almost more important, was to get out of their soiled pants.

***

Eames let out a small sound of discontent when Arthur peeled himself up and off of him, but he had to admit that it was probably for the best. Now that the overwhelming passion of the moment was over, he was feeling a bit sticky and damp, and shedding his pyjama bottoms wasn't a bad idea.

He was more hopeful over the whole encounter when Arthur crossed to the door to lock it before he shucked his sweatpants. He knew that Arthur was going to want to talk about this, but it seemed that perhaps they were not done yet?

"Not to sound completely ungrateful," he drawled, stripping off all his shirts at once and stretching luxuriantly, completely nude now, still heated from the inside out by sexual fervency, "But what brought that on?"

Arthur was staring at him, unabashedly, pausing in the act of removing his own clothing. His cheeks were pink, but Eames thought that was more likely to be the result of the climax he'd just had than any embarrassment. After all, they'd just rubbed off against one another. It was hardly the time for being shy _now_.

"Ariadne," Arthur replied, his voice rough, and, ooh, Eames wanted to kiss him again. If only he were on the bed and in Eames' arms. But, wait. What had he said?

"Ariadne?" Eames blinked, running a hand lazily down his belly below his navel, feeling the flesh soft and still damp with his come. Arthur's eyes widened and his gaze followed this movement, his cheeks pinking even more brightly. "Forgive me for being dense, but what might our darling girl have to do with what just happened?"

"She told me to do it," Arthur replied absently, divesting himself of the rest of his clothing, using his teeshirt as a cloth to wipe his stomach and thighs. His cock was just as large as Eames remembered, even more so now that it was still partially erect, and Eames felt his mouth literally watering. So long as Arthur didn't get the wind up, Eames _was_ going to get that beautiful prick in his mouth. Whatever the reason for this, he meant to take as much advantage as Arthur would allow.

Speaking of the reason, however....

"Told you to?" he echoed, frowning and raising his gaze to meet Arthur's. Arthur looked delightful, debauched, molested, and molestable. His hair was mussed, his face pink, his lips still pressure-bruised from their kisses, his flesh flushed and dewy with lingering pleasure and rising passion.

Arthur shook his head sharply and stepped back over to the bed, hesitating for a moment next to it. Eames wanted to reach and grab him, but he knew that this reticence was probably a good idea on Arthur's part, because once they were tangled together on the bed, _naked_ , then their words were likely going to slip away, and quickly.

"Not told me to," Arthur corrected, then he frowned again. Eames wanted to suck that lush, deliciously pouty lower lip. Arthur really did have the most beautiful mouth.... "I mean, she _did_ tell me to. But that's not why I did it. It's because she told me that _you_ wanted to."

"Oh." Eames might have cursed Ariadne for being so perceptive and for being a little busy-body, but how could he when it netted him something so incredible as Arthur jumping him and indulging both their carnal desires?

Arthur's eyes were fixed on Eames' mouth, the warm chocolate shade melting to dark cocoa, his pupils spreading with passion. Eames had a feeling they weren't going to continue talking for long, and he was oh so all right with that.

"She wasn't wrong, was she?"

He might almost have smiled at the note of hesitancy in Arthur's voice, seeing as the fact that he had kissed back, come in his pants, and was now spread out nude for Arthur's enjoyment should have clued the other boy in. But the slight quaver, the lingering uncertainty that he caught in the shadows of Arthur's face, and the fact that he was pretty sure there was an underlying meaning to this question, that Arthur meant more than just sex by it....

"Of course not," he replied, smiling more gently. "Now, come back to bed before we both get chilled."

Arthur looked equal parts relieved and turned on, and he obeyed this order with charming alacrity.

***

Kissing Eames was like coming home. This thought was so lame and cliched that it made Arthur blush even to think it in the privacy of his own mind, but that didn't make it any less true.

It was as though kissing one another was what he and Eames had been made to do. They curled together under the sheets and blankets, side by side, one of Eames' hands on Arthur's shoulder, Arthur gripping the nape of Eames' neck again, but otherwise not touching as they exchanged sweet, lazy kisses. The urgency was gone, but the desire was there; would probably never go away, Arthur thought.

He wanted to reach out and touch Eames, to put his hands all over that powerful, tightly muscled body, trace the tattoos on the surface of his skin. But that seemed like too much, just now. Yes, they had just humped against one another until they had come. Their tongues were in one another's mouths. They had just undressed in front of each other. But Arthur felt like they needed to work up to further intimacy. At least, _he_ did. For a short while. He probably wouldn't be able to hold off long.

Seeing Eames naked had been so much more arousing than seeing him in his boxer briefs. Eames had been lounging there on the bed, completely bared and unashamed. Come smeared on the skin of his belly, matting his pubes, his dick still stiff and full, not hard but not completely flaccid. He was big, not as long as Arthur but maybe thicker, and he was uncut. Arthur had already guessed this, but he hadn't realized that the reality of it would turn him on so much. He wanted to play with Eames' foreskin so badly that his fingers twitched.

Naked Eames was amazing and Arthur thought that the only thing better than looking at him would be pressing up tightly against him.

He scooted closer, unsurprised to realize that Eames was doing the same, and even though he was enjoying this making out that they were doing, Arthur was really kind of ready to move things onward. Being sixteen and completely horny for the boy in bed with him meant that his refraction period was minimal at best, and he was pretty sure that it was the same for Eames. He was _certain_ of it, when he felt Eames' hard, thick dick nudging at his hipbone when they both moved more closely toward one another.

Despite the fact that they were both getting hard again, and definitely wanted one another, Eames didn't seem to be in any hurry to give up kissing Arthur. Arthur could hardly argue with this, and so he kissed back. Lips and teeth and tongues, and he could feel the arousal crackling over the surface of his skin, settling hot and throbbing in his groin, as they kissed until their lips went numb.

"Could do that forever," Eames rumbled against Arthur's mouth, as though he had read his mind, and Arthur could feel his lips curve up in a smile. Eames didn't taste of peppermint anymore; he tasted only of himself, and that was addictive enough that Arthur could understand and agree with his spoken sentiment, even if he knew it wasn't logical.

"Maybe not forever, " he demurred, driven to specificity despite his own thoughts on the matter, and running his hands over the swells of Eames' pectorals. He could feel wisps of light curls and those fascinating pointed nipples beneath his palms, then his fingers, and he paused, toying with them, tugging lightly. He reveled in the catch this brought to Eames' breathing, the low moan that he let out, the way he shivered under this touch.

"Here," Eames rumbled, and there was a firm hand at Arthur's shoulder, pressing him into the mattress. Arthur wasn't incredibly pleased to be moved _away_ from Eames' hot, hard body, but he sank back willingly enough, curious as to what Eames intended. After all the kissing they'd been doing, he hardly thought that Eames was suggesting they quit now.

His faith and patience were rewarded as Eames licked a hot path down his neck, pausing to suck at the pulse point -- not hard enough to leave a mark, but causing a clench of arousal to grasp his senses -- teeth nipping at his collarbone, then those plush lips made their way down his chest to close around one of Arthur's own nipples.

He let out an involuntary little sound, back arching into the stimulation, his fingers locking in Eames' hair and holding on. He wouldn't have thought that this would be so arousing, since he wasn't a woman, but evidently Eames knew better than Arthur did.

Then again, Eames' mouth was wet and hot, his lips skilled and soft on Arthur's skin. He could have kissed Arthur _anywhere_ on his body and it would have been incredible.

Eames gave Arthur's chest some attention, with fingers and with lips, tracing his areola with the tip of his tongue, sucking at the pebbled bits of flesh, thumbing at whichever one wasn't in his mouth. Arthur ran his hands restlessly over what he could reach of Eames' back, the flesh smooth over solid muscle, the pads of Arthur's fingers tingling at the contact.

Eames kissed, licked, and nibbled his way down Arthur's chest and stomach, his palms heavy on the points of Arthur's hips, his tongue sweeping broad and demanding into the dip of Arthur's bellybutton. All Arthur could do was lie underneath him and tremble, trying to catch his breath, letting out small noises of pleasure, just taking what Eames was willing to give him.

Eames hummed into the flesh below Arthur's navel, lazily licking the sensitive skin there, sending violent shivers all through Arthur's body. He sounded happy and hungry, and he had been working his way lower all this time, but it still took Arthur completely by surprise when Eames clasped a hand around the shaft of his dick and popped the head into his mouth without hesitation.

"Holy shit!"

***

The salty tang of Arthur's come was rich and musky on the skin of his stomach, lingering despite his attempted clean-up with his teeshirt, and Eames was happy to savour it.

But even better was finally getting his hand on the heavy, heated length of that tempting cock, putting it in his mouth as he'd been dying to do, and taking a taste from the source.

Eames did so love sucking cock. He'd often thought that it was unfair, seeing as he had been told so often that he had a mouth built for it and not liking to live up to what his lips promised, contrary bastard that he was, but he couldn't change his nature. And even more than any other cock he'd put in his mouth, he wanted to suck Arthur's. Preferably forever and always, if the other boy would let him.

Arthur's cock was perfectly shaped and just as exquisite up close as he had been when Eames had gotten that peek in front of the shower -- even more so, since he was hard and here and _in Eames' mouth_.

Shifting for a better angle, Eames took more of that thick hardness in his mouth, running the head over his tongue, and listening to the throttled cry this wrenched out of Arthur's throat. The fact that he was bringing Arthur pleasure was even more of a turn on than the solid reality of the other boy's cock in his mouth, and Eames reveled in it, taking in as much as he could manage, sucking, licking, twisting his tongue around the head, using every trick he had ever picked up and making up a few on the spot that seemed to please.

Arthur's fingers were locked in his hair, tugging hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, and his hips were rocking as much as Arthur could manage when Eames was using his hands to pin them down. He was letting out the most delightful noises, frantic and fervent, and then before Eames quite meant for it to happen, before he was quite through enjoying the hard, leaking cock in his mouth, Arthur was crying out, his stomach tightening and his cock jumping as he came all over Eames' lips and tongue.

Eames always swallowed; he thought that it was very poor manners not to. Not that he had any qualms about doing so where Arthur was concerned. He licked his lips, cleaning up some of the overspill, wiping his chin with the back of his wrist to get the rest, and levered back up to lie beside Arthur. He wanted to kiss him again, but he didn't know what Arthur's opinion was on kissing someone directly after they had blown him and gotten a mouthful of his come.

He needn't have worried. With a low groan, Arthur rolled toward him, hooking an arm around Eames' neck. He pulled Eames close, their sweat-dewed chests pressed tightly together, and claimed Eames' lips with a fervour that was more than a little gratifying. Honestly, it was downright flattering. Though Eames did vow that someday he was going to suck Arthur so hard and so well, perhaps denying him orgasm several times, that he would wind up a quivering puddle without the ability to do _anything_ once he finally came.

The fact that he hadn't managed it this time proved to be a good thing, though, when Arthur's hands began to move over Eames' torso in slow, soft, languid strokes. Eames shuddered, releasing a small sound of approval, and relaxed into the caresses.

***

Arthur felt as though all his bones had liquefied, leaving pooled pleasure in their place, his movements sluggish and lazy. But this didn't mean that he didn't still want to touch Eames, didn't still want more than anything to bring Eames off in turn. Eames had already given Arthur two mind-blowing orgasms to his one -- now it was time to even those numbers up.

They kissed as Arthur touched and traced Eames' muscles, learning the contours of his body. Eames' mouth tasted of Arthur's come, and it wasn't the most delicious flavor in the world, but Arthur didn't mind it. Not to mention that the fact of it reminded him that Eames had just sucked his dick until he had _shot off_ in his _mouth_. That was something so amazing that he was still having difficulty processing it.

Arthur tweaked Eames' nipples again, but from the restless shifting of Eames' hips and the small, entreating sounds he was making against Arthur's lips, he knew that he shouldn't tease for too long. Eames was definitely turned on and ready to come a second time, and he'd already gotten Arthur off. It was only fair of him to return the favor.

He slid his hand down, fingers tracking hot over Eames' taut stomach muscles, carding through sweat-damp pubic hair, and then reached his prize, wrapping his hand around Eames' stiff, throbbing erection.

Arthur could hardly believe he was touching it, holding it, preparing to jerk it until Eames came, but here in this moment, after having had Eames' hot sucking mouth on his own dick, it only seemed a natural progression. And it would be rude to leave Eames hanging any longer.

Even though he knew this last fact to be true, Arthur couldn't help himself toying with Eames' foreskin a little, pressing it up and then peeling it back with his thumb, cataloging the differences to his own dick. He knew this was a bit mean, and Eames was whining into his shoulder, his breath hot and panting, his teeth sharp where he nipped at Arthur in light vengeance, but Arthur couldn't help taking this moment to indulge his curiosity.

Promising himself that he would return to Eames' dick and take his time playing with it more at some point in the future, Arthur gave in and took it in hand, giving Eames several long, firm strokes despite the fact that he was at an awkward angle for this. There was enough sweat and precome on his palm and along the shaft of Eames' erection that he didn't lack for lubrication, and the fact was that it only took a handful -- no pun intended -- of vigorous strokes before Eames was jerking, grabbing at Arthur, curling toward him and whining into his neck as he shook his way through his climax. Hot seed spilled over Arthur's knuckles, and before he thought not to, he raised his hand, tasting, trying to tell the difference between his own come and Eames'.

"I think you killed me," Eames rumbled into Arthur's shoulder, cuddling close despite the fact that they were both sweaty and spattered in more than a little of Eames' semen.

"Mm." Arthur wiped his hand on the sheets behind Eames before wrapping his arms around the other boy, cuddling close, soaking in the heat between them, the rich smell of Eames' come, the salt of their sweat, reveling in the strong arms that locked around him in return. "That wasn't even my best effort," he protested. If he could get a hold of Eames' dick while spooning the other boy from behind, then he'd be able to bring his own not inconsiderable masturbatory skills to bear, and then he'd _really_ show Eames what he could do.

All that jerking off he had done while pining after Eames ought to be good for something. Other than the temporary release of getting himself off, of course.

Arthur could feel his dick twitch at this thought, echoes of arousal washing through him, but he was too sated now to get it up again... for a while, anyway. They had all night, after all, and they were two sixteen year old boys who had each just discovered that the other wanted him.

Arthur thought that they were going to have one hell of an amazing Christmas Eve, and he wondered if they'd even be able to drag themselves upstairs on Christmas Day morning. Of course, doing so would be far preferable to the possibility of someone coming down to rouse them....

But thoughts of his family could wait. Eames was in his arms, and Arthur was going to make the most of the moment. However this had happened, wherever it was going, he was here, and couldn't imagine ever wanting or needing more.

***

Instead of replying to Arthur's sally, Eames just kissed him. He could kiss Arthur forever, he thought again dreamily. Of course, a good, hard orgasm tended to make him maudlin. But his feelings for Arthur were real and undeniable, and Eames was certain that he was never going to want to kiss anyone else, ever again.

Arthur was turning slightly away from him now, though, and when Eames sleepily cracked his eyes open, he could see that he was reaching toward the bedside table.

"What are you doing?" he asked in a husky rumble, not letting loose his grip on Arthur in the slightest.

"Texting Ariadne back," Arthur replied, grabbing his mobile and twisting so that he was lying on his back, still cuddled close to Eames, still locked in his embrace.

"Mm, tell her thanks from me," Eames murmured, stretching to lick a broad wet swath up the line of Arthur's neck, then pressing a kiss to the pulse still pounding in the hollow behind his ear, nuzzling the tender flesh there.

Arthur turned his head, and their lips met. The mobile tumbled into the bedcovers, the message unsent, and was completely forgotten as the two of them twined together once again.

Honestly, Eames couldn't bring himself to care.

***

The next morning was a little awkward, but mainly due to the fact that the two of them were sort of stuck to the sheets, rather than because of all the sex they'd been having or any potential regrets.

There _were_ no regrets. Unless it was that they regretted the need to stop.

Arthur was glad that the laundry room was right down the hall -- he only wished that there was a full bath in the basement and a way to air out the bedroom. Well, it was no use wishing for impossible things; especially when he had received something the night before that he had thought would be impossible.

Eames sat up in bed as Arthur collected his clothing for the day, hoping to get upstairs and into a shower before running into anyone. Christmas Day morning, this was faint hope, but it was all he had, and he had risen extra early for this sole purpose.

A sleepy, rumpled, sexed-out Eames looked so good that it almost convinced Arthur to crawl back into bed with him despite the fact of knowing better. His hair was standing up in wild tufts, and his lips were pink and plump, still appearing pressure bruised even though the two of them had actually given in to exhaustion and satiation and had fallen asleep a good six hours earlier.

"Are we all right?" Eames asked around a wide yawn, but he didn't seem to be too concerned about the question or any probable reply. His eyes were heavy-lidded and dark with desire, and Arthur was beginning to think about sharing the shower, even though this couldn't have been anything other than a horrible, horrible idea. In his grandparents' house, with aunts, uncles, cousins, and _parents_ liable to wander down the hall outside the bathroom....

It was a testament to how hot he was for Eames that the thought of family did very little to deter Arthur's libido.

He set his clothing on the foot of the bed and crawled over the mattress to kiss Eames' chin, just below and to the side of his lower lip. There was a dusting of stubble, indicating the man that Eames was just a few years away from becoming, and Arthur couldn't help finding that to be even more sexy.

"I'll take that as a yes," Eames rumbled, twining his arms around Arthur and trying to pull him back into the bedcovers.

Arthur resisted, though. "Have to go shower," he protested, kissing Eames again, this time on the swell of his lower lip. They both had morning breath, and he didn't want to get distracted into more sex, so he didn't dare to full on kiss Eames' mouth, but he definitely _wanted_ to.

"Now that sounds like a plan," Eames grinned, letting go of Arthur and sliding out from under the covers. He moved gracefully despite the fact of his dick being half hard already, and Arthur was both amazed and impressed by his stamina. Not that his own dick wasn't rising to the occasion as he stared at Eames' growing erection.

"We can't bathe together," he told Eames firmly as the other boy gathered fresh clothes and slipped into a robe Arthur hadn't even known he'd owned, belting it around his waist.

Eames arched a brow at him. "No?"

Arthur shook his head, then smirked as he thought of something. "I don't want to share a shower until it's our shower at home," he proclaimed, heated arousal flaring in him at this thought. And he wasn't the only one, he thought smugly, as he saw Eames' dick punching out the material of his robe.

"Oh." Those delicious lips rounded, and Arthur almost rethought his resolve. "All right, then, Arthur. You go and bathe while I have a quick wank here, and then we'll trade off."

Arthur scowled. "I don't think I like that plan," he complained, stepping toward Eames.

Eames' brows rose. "No?"

"No." Arthur slid gracefully to his knees before Eames and parted the folds of his robe. He might not be as talented as Eames was at blowjobs, but he had his own skills and he definitely had an appreciation for the subject of his ministration.

"Oh," Eames said again. And Arthur missed his window of opportunity to get up to shower before anyone else was up, but neither one of them could bring themselves to care.

***

Present opening on Christmas Day was a bigger deal for the kiddies than anyone else, Eames thought, but he still enjoyed it. Mostly he liked watching other people get excited over their own gifts, but there were a few nice things for him. He was a little embarrassed and yet pleased to discover that Arthur's grandparents had gotten him something. His mother had supplied several other gifts, and there was even one that was exclusively from Oscar, rather than both he and Mum.

Eames and Arthur had meant to exchange their gifts for one another downstairs in the bedroom, before emerging and joining the family, but the morning sex and the need they'd both had to bathe had kind of preempted that. Eames thought it was a fair trade off, but he was also wildly curious as to what Arthur had gotten him. As well as being anxious as to whether or not Arthur would like Eames' gift for him.

They escaped as soon as they could, and true to Arthur's promise, no one really noticed.

"Be ready to leave by four," Oscar called after them, and Eames felt his heart jump with glee. That much closer to snogging Arthur in the shower, he thought. And after the night before, he didn't know whose bed they were going to end up in, but there was no way they were sleeping alone and pining over one another anymore.

"So you've really been crushing on me all this time?" Eames asked as he shifted the neatly wrapped gift from Arthur in his hands. They were sitting crosslegged on the denuded bed, the sheets in the dryer now, down the hall, and Eames knew that they shouldn't start fooling around, but evening and home seemed so very far away.

Arthur had turned an appealing shade of red when he had made this confession to Eames, but he had seemed to think it was important. And Eames couldn't but return the sentiment.

"No wonder Ariadne's been so exasperated," Arthur had said, his delicious lips curling up at the corners in an amused grin. Eames had been forced to kiss that smile, hadn't been able to stop himself no matter what common sense had demanded.

Right now, though, Arthur was answering Eames' question. "It's not a crush," he said stiffly. Not upset or offended but definitely feeling the need to set the record straight. "What I felt for Dom, that was a crush. This is... something more."

He blushed as he said this, looking uncomfortable, his knuckles white where he was clutching his gift from Eames, and Eames felt his own cheeks flare. But the heat in his face and heart weren't due to embarrassment. He was filled with warmth and affection, instead.

"Oh," he said. Then he smiled at Arthur, more softly than he had meant to do, but he desperately needed to set the other boy's mind as ease. "Well, me too, then. You know."

Arthur stared at him with wide eyes, then bowed his head, hiding behind his loose hair. Eames could see his lips curving in a wide smile, though, those tempting dimples creasing his rosy cheeks, and he counted this particular exchange as an all around win.

"Shall we?" he asked, brandishing Arthur's gift to him. The sooner they opened these, the sooner he could grab Arthur and kiss that endearingly uncertain expression away.

Arthur nodded, biting at his lower lip, and the two of them tore away the paper. Eames almost felt it was a desecration, wrecking the perfect wrapping job Arthur had done, and he certainly hadn't wrapped Arthur's gift anything like so well himself, but there was no help for it.

"Arthur," he gasped, opening the small box and staring at the beautiful silver watch with the leather strap inside. It was high quality, expensive, and far better than Eames deserved. "I--" He touched its round ivory face with reverent fingertips. "This is...."

Now he was embarrassed by his own gift for Arthur. Even though Ariadne had helped him to choose it, even though she had assured him it was perfect, he couldn't help comparing it disfavourably to this magnificent timepiece.

"Oh." Arthur didn't seem disappointed, though. He made a soft sound of pleasure as he sank his lean fingers into the close-knit, hunter green sweater neatly folded in the box. That had been done by the clerk, as she was a professional and Eames knew he would have mucked it up if he'd tried himself. He should have paid the extra to have her wrap it as well, but it was too late now.

"It's angora," Eames offered, hoping that Arthur wasn't faking, that he really did like it. "Hand-knit, though not by me, I'm afraid. Ariadne said that you would like it...."

"I do." Arthur raised his gaze to Eames, smiling shyly. Which was a bit silly, considering that they'd each of them sucked the other's cock, among other things in the last twenty-four hours, but Eames understood. Sex was easy; emotions were more difficult. And this thing between them might have been a long time building, but it was still very new.

"I'm glad," was all Eames managed to say, but then they both leaned forward and their lips met over the ripped wrapping paper and their gifts, and that was all that needed to be said.

This was the best Christmas Day that Eames had experienced in his sixteen years, and it was only the beginning. They were going to go home and they would be together there, and they had the rest of their lives ahead of them. Together. He had Arthur and Arthur had him, and those were the best giftings that anyone could ever have, he thought, as disgustingly sappy as that sentiment was.

Eames intended to make the best of this chance, and he was going to be the best for Arthur that he could be. Arthur deserved no less.

"Thank you," Arthur said, smiling at him, and then he surged forward and tumbled Eames into the wrapping paper on the bare mattress. And Eames could hardly bring himself to protest.

***

_[4:45pm You have the right to be unbearably smug, Ariadne.]_

_[4:46pm Oh, and Eames says that we say thank you.]_

_[4:50pm Merry Christmas and see you in the new year.]_

Arthur sent this final message and glanced over at Eames with a smirk. They were in the back seat of the car again, headed home. He knew damned well that Ariadne was getting home the day after them, but he hoped that she took the hint inherent in his last text. Because after they got home and Dad and Gloria took off again, on a New Year's cruise, he and Eames were going to have _so much sex_ , in every room in the house.

Eames caught his eye and blinked, then smiled back. They couldn't kiss, considering that their parents were in the front of the car, but Eames' hand crept across the seat and wrapped itself around Arthur's.

And Arthur let him, Eames' fingers warm around his own as they slotted them together.

"Happy Christmas," Eames murmured, and Arthur squeezed his hand.

"Happy Christmas," he echoed. Because it was. It was a very happy Christmas.

His phone chirped and there was a reply text from Ariadne.

_[5:00pm About time you guys!]_

He laughed, showed it to Eames. And Eames grinned and laughed along with him as the car zipped toward home.

Although, if home was where the heart was, then Arthur was already at home, sitting here beside Eames. As saccharine and cliched as this thought was, it was also the truth.

_[5:02pm Btw, yes I am unbearably smug. And I'll see you both next year.]_

[end]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> Banner by the wonderful Too Rational!

**Author's Note:**

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> Gorgeous banner by Too Rational!


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